UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORN  A   SAN  D  EGO 


3  1822022553341 


(LIBRARY  ^ 
UNiveRsirr  OF 
CALIFORNIA 
SAN  DIEGO     j 


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UN  VERS  TY  OF  CAL  FORNIA   SAN  DIEGO 


31822022553341 


Social  Sciences  &  Humanities  Library 

University  of  California,  San  Diego 
Please  Note:  This  item  is  subject  to  recall. 

Date  Due 

MAR  1 S  199! 


Cl  39  (2/95) 


UCSDLi). 


VIOLET: 


THE  CHILD  OF  THE  CITY. 


i  t    cwv  c      -W     f     "W-f 

rjr  01  lefa  f  0rk  Jm 


BY  ROBERT  F.  GREELEY. 


JSf 


BUNCE    &    BROTHER,    PUBLISHERS, 
134  NASSAU  STREET. 


MDOOCLIV. 


ENTBBKD  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1854,  by 

BUNOE    &    BROTHER, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Southern  District  of  New  York. 


W.  H.  TUCSON,  Stcreotyper,  Ac., 

94  Beekman  Street,  New  York. 


HOLHAN,  GRAY  &  Co.,  Printer*. 
New-York. 


CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  i.  Pagt 

The  Welcome  Visitor 9 

CHAPTER   II. 

The  Old  Homestead 14 

CHAPTER   III. 

The  Fal.se  Step  .    • 21 

CHAPTER  IV. 

Christmas  Eve  in  Town      ........       26 

C  H  A  P  T  E  R  V  . 

A  Return  of  Life — and  Death 33 

CHAPTER  VI. 

The  Result  of  a  False  Step 40 

CHAPTER     VII. 

Republican  Simplicity 48 

CHAPTER    VIII. 

Starting  in  Life 55 

CHAPTER    IX. 

The  Contract     ...       - 63 

CHAPTER   X. 

The  Philanthropist  and  his  Protege      ......       69 

CHAPTER   XI. 

A  Soiree  among  the  Upper  Ten 77 

CHAPTER   XII. 

The  Morning  after  the  Revel.  .85 

CHAP  TE"R   XIII  . 

Herbert  loses  his  Place        .         .         .         .         . .    -  .         .         .90 

CHAPTER    XIV. 

Life  among  the  "Under-Current  " 103 

CHAPTER    XV. 

Better  Prospects          .         .  J    _,_  '     — «- — .         .   t     ..        .116 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

An  Important  Rumor          ........     126 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

A  Model  Boarding-House 135 

CHAPTE  R   XVIII. 

Suspicions  .         .         . 146 

CHAPTER   XIX. 

A  New  Home 157 

CHAPTER    XX. 

The  Marriage  of  Convenience      .         .         .         .         ,         .        .     163 


CONTENTS.  IV 

CHAPTER  XXI.  Pag* 

A  Season  in  Paris 177 

CHAPTER   XX  II  . 

The  Bal  Costume  and  its  Results 187 

CHAPTER    XXIII. 

What  Marriages  in  High  Life  often  come  to         ....     196 

CHAPTER     XXIV. 

The  Man  of  Fashion 206 

CHAPTER   XXV. 

An  Interview  ; 212 

CHAPTER   XXVI  . 

Clouds  in  the  Horizon        .        . 216 

CHAPTER    XXVII. 

The  Midnight  Conference   .        ;        ~.        .;      .        .        .        .221 

CHAPTE  R     XXVIII. 

The  Spider  Weaving  his  Web      .         .         :         . ""'.         .        .     22> 

CHA  PTER   XXIX. 

The  Diner-Out  at  Home      '. '•    '.        '.        ;        i        i""V"      -     234 

CHAPTER   XXX. 

Money  gets  Tight       i        ;         ;        '.' : 251 

CHAPTER   XXX  I  . 

Misfortunes  never  come  Singly    .......     262 

CHAPTER     XXXII. 

The  Dramatic  Association  .         .         '.  '    ' ' ,    '  *>'    '    .         .         .     270 

CHAPTER   XXXIII. 

The  Wreck J   •'  .         .     281 

CHAPTER     XXXIV. 

Herbert's  New  Friend 285 

CHAPTER     XXXV. 

The  Night-Ride  on  Long  Island 292 

CHAPTER     XXXVI. 

The  Death  Blow         ..;......     298 

CHAPTER   XXXVII. 

Forsaken  by  All ?Vvv'i;:  :     ^         <     30g 

CHAPTER   XXXVIII. 

Exciting  Events 313 

CHAPTER   XXXIX  . 

The  Death 321 

CHAPTER  XL. 

Violet  Finds  a  New  Protector 327 

CH APTE  R    XLI  . 

The  Clouds  Dispersed 330 

I 


PREFACE. 


FOR  many  years  past  the  world  ha3  been  agitated  by  a  variety  of 
propositions  for  ameliorating  the  condition,  not  of  the  masses  merely, 
but  of  the  great  body  of  man-and-womankind  which  constitutes  society 
within  the  proper  meaning  of  the  word.  These  projects  met  with 
varied  success,  according  to  the  degree  of  talent  and  energy  exhibited  by 
their  several  authors  ;  but  most  of  them  having  failed,  as  mere  experi- 
ments, the  projectors  invariably  ceased  to  attract  the  public  attention, 
and  were  classed  among  the  theorists,  just  as  Galileo  and  Newton,  and 
Pulton,  and  a  thousand  others  have  been  before  and  since — their  produc- 
tions being  still  read  by  a  few  devoted  admirers  as  much  for  the  intrinsic 
merit  of  their  contents  as  for  any  other  reason,  but  very  little  attention 
being  paid  to  their  principles.  Men  of  means  take  a  practical  rather 
than  a  philosophical  view  of  this  world's  affairs — owing,  we  suppose, 
to  that  first  law  of  nature  that  we  must  provide  for  ourselves  and  for 
those  immediately  dependent  on  us  before  extending  our  benefits  to 
others;  and  thus  but  few  comparatively  have  been  induced  to  favor 
such  schemes  as  may  occasionally  have  been  brought  under  their 
notice.  Men,  once  fallen  from  their  high  estate,  grow  callous,  it  would 
seem,  to  the  better  impulses  of  nature,  and,  being  confirmed  in  their 
evil  habits,  the  work  of  reformation  is  with  them  an  arduous  task. 
With  children  the  case  is  different,  and  here  lies  the  newly-discovered 
vein  in  which  so  many  philanthropic  persons  have  lately  been  working 
with  such  unanticipated  success.  Philanthropy,  that  has  been  dozing 
for  a  long  while  past,  discouraged  with  the  ill  result  which  had  attended 
the  most  of  her  efforts  for  the  redemption  of  humanity,  is  once  more  at 


vi  run  FACE. 

her  post,  and  in  the  channel  to  which  we  allude  is  already  working 
wonders. 

A  Report  of  one  of  the  numerous  charitable  associations  which  have 
lately  sprung  into  existence  informs  us  (we  quote  the  language  of  the 
Editor  of  the  Times,  in  which  the  article  in  question  appeared),  "That 
there  are  10,000  vagrant  children  in  this  city ;  that  in  eleven  Wards 
over  3,000  children,  of  whom  2,000  are  girls,  between  eight  and  sixteen 
years  old,  are  regularly  trained  to  theft;  that  out  of  16,000  criminals 
arrested  during  the  year,  one  fourth,  were  under  21,  and  800  under  15 
years  of  age.  These  children,"  says  Mr.  Raymond,  "  are  thus  engaged 
because  they  have  no  other  way  to  earn  a  living,  and  nobody  to  teach 
them  better. 

"The  object  of  this  Society  (The  Cliildrerfs  Aid  Society)  is"  (we  aro 
still  quoting  the  Times)  "to  see  whether  these  children  cannot  bo 
brought  under  better  influences.  It  looks  them  up  in  the  first  place — 
gives  them  food,  and  sets  them  to  work.  One  most  admirable  means 
of  providing  for  them  has  been  to  find  places  for  them  with  farmers, 
mechanics,  and  manufacturers  in  the  country;  and  the  report  states 
that  applications  for  these  boys  and  girls,  from  various  sections  of  the 
country,  come  in  faster  than  they  can  be  supplied.  This  is  a  most 
hopeful  fact.  All  that  is  needed  is  money  to  send  them  to  the  places 
•where  they  are  wanted.  Over  200  have  been  thus  sent  off. 

"  Another  mode  resorted  to  is  to  provide  workshops  for  them  in  the 
City,  where  they  can  be  taught  to  do  coarse  work  for  manufacturers — 
receiving  pay  regularly,  and  at  the  same  time  learning  how  to  earn  an 
honest  living.  During  the  last  year  115  boys  have  been  thus  employed 
in  a  shop  for  pegging  shoes.  The  receipts  of  the  shop  have  been  $671, 
and  the  expenses  $865 ;  so  that  the  net  cost  of  this  great  charity  has 
been  but  $194.  Several  schools  have  been  established,  where  this  class 
of  children,  who  cannot  attend  the  Ward  Schools,  are  taught  not  only 
the  elements  of  useful  knowledge,  but  the  elements  of  useful  labor." 

There  are,  also,  other  associations  where  the  children  of  the  city  are 


1'UKFACE.  VII 

provided  for,  and  some,  where  grown  persons  are  made  the  objects  on 
whose  account  our  philanthropic  tendencies  are  appealed  to.  All  of 
them  appear  to  be  fairly  under  way  and  reasonably  successful — partly 
owing  to  the  fact  that  many  of  the  newspapers  and  other  publications 
have  lately  been  engaged  in  disseminating  the  views  of  the  projectors, 
the  names  of  many  of  whom  are  familiar  with  us  in  connexion  with 
charitable  deeds.  If  ever  the  detractor  seeks  to  pervert  their  efforts,  let 
Society  put  its  foot  at  once  upon  him. 

Among  other  objects  which  actuated  the  inditing  of  this  book,  the 
author  has  sought  to  show  in  the  characters  of  Mr.  Lyle  and  Violet,  that 
poverty  is  not  always,  nor  even  in  the  majority  of  cases,  necessarily 
accompanied  by  crime ;  but  that  long  continued  misfortunes,  bodily 
ailment  and  mental  discouragement,  sometimes  reduce  to  the  lowest 
depths  of  degradation  the  most  noble  characters  and  the  brightest 
intellects.  Any  close  observer  of  human  nature  in  large  cities  can  bear 
witness  to  this  fact — has  himself  met  with  at  least  one  example  in 
proof.  But  it  is  also  sought  to  be  shown  that  no  case  is  too  desperate 
to  find  a  remedy,  and  to  illustrate  this  truism  the  characters  of  Mr. 
Humphreys  and  his  adopted  son  are  introduced.  Mr.  Pryce  Benedick 
and  his  coterie  are  held  forth  as  the  types  of  a  class  which  abounds  where- 
ever  the  English  tongue  prevails,  and  for  which  an  English  writer  can 
find  no  term  more  happy  and  appropriate  than  "snob."  This  class  of 
persons  we  consider  to  the  full  as  unfortunate  as  their  more  poverty- 
stricken  neighbors,  and  to  them  and  their  children  philanthropy 
cannot  be  too  profitably  directed.  But  the  Tribune  having  taken  their 
case  in  hand,  we  forbear  to  add  anything  to  what  has  already  been  said 
of  them,  in  the  body  of  this  work.  It  is  hardly  necessary  to  state  that 
personalities  have  found  no  place  in  its  pages.  The  characters,  imper- 
fectly drawn  as  they  are,  are  exhibited  only  for  the  purpose  of  displaying 
in  their  broadest  colors  the  follies  and  backslidings  of  society,  and  had 
it  been  merely  for  the  sake  of  introducing  a  few  remarks  with  regard  to 
them,  this  prefac%  would  not  have  been  written. 


Vlll  PREFACE. 

There  are  few  of  us  totally  destitute  of  charitable  impulses,  but  very 
many  are  destitute  of  the  knowledge  how  to  indulge  them.  A  reference 
to  the  columns  of  the  city  dailies,  and  in  particular  of  the  two  papers 
of  which  we  have  spoken,  will  afford  all  the  necessary  information,  and 
for  the  rest  we  will  only  draw  attention  to  the  benevolent  enterprises 
of  which  Rev.  C.  L.  Brace  is  the  deserving  agent,  and  whose  quarters 
are  at  No.  20  Bible  House.  If  each  of  our  readers  could  be  induced  to 
give  these  enterprises  such  aid  and  countenance  as  his  means  will 
admit,  many  a  future  Violet  and  many  an  Edith  Gray  may  be  saved 
from  ruin. 


VIOLET, 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE    WELCOME    VISITOR. 

THERE  is  a  familiar  spirit  which,  born  amid  the  blue  and 
far-off  hills,  occasionally  drops  in  upon  the  denizens  of  this 
famous  metropolis — surprising  the  merchant  at  his  ledger, 
the  man  of  money  at  his  pastime,  the  artisan  at  his  toil : 
passing  through  keyholes  and  crevices  as  well  as  through 
open  doors ;  invading  alike  scenes  of  festivity  and  business 
places — gliding  in  at  the  window  of  the  martyr  to  a  prospe- 
rous trade  and  seven  healthy  children,  with  the  first  gleam 
of  sunshine  that  the  clouds  have  permitted  to  pass  them  this 
April  morning — floating  by  on  that  balmy  whiff  of  air  that 
has  just  come,  laden  with  the  first  sweets  of  Spring  and  a 
dash  of  fresh  brine,  from  the  Hempstead  meadows — flitting 
about  the  carelessly  attired  forms  of  yon  homely  trio  of 
countrymen,  who,  in  all  the  fabulous  splendor  of  bran  new 
blue  coats  and  brass  buttons,  are  gazing  in  a  fearful  state  of 

1* 


10  VIOLET,    THE    CHILD    OF   THE    CITi". 

wonderment,  at  the  miraculous  show  of  service  in  front  of  the 
St.  Nicholas,  lighting  up  their  sunburned  countenances  with 
a  glow  of  honest  pleasure,  which  could  never,  for  a  moment, 
be  confounded  with  the  impassive  tell-nothingness  of  the 
features  of  that  tightly-braced  cit  who  has  just  passed  them 
— even  perching  maliciously,  as  Queen  Mab  might  have 
done  on  her  throne,  upon  that  small  Dunderbergh  mountain 
of  cabbage  and  greens,  which  piles  up  those  huge  country 
wains  just  approaching.  Performing,  as  the  humor  doth 
take  her,  now  a  generous  action — now  a  mischievous,  wicked 
prank,  such  as  none  save  herself  would  dream  of,  and  yet 
doing  all  with  so  harmless  and  winning  a  grace,  that, 
although  the  damage  occasioned  by  her  unceremonious  intru- 
sion may  not  be  slight,  we  cannot  find  heart  enough  to  be 
angry  with  her. 

Though  centuries,  with  their  chances  and  changes  have 
rolled  over  her,  her  face,  like  the  fairies  of  old,  instead  of 
decreasing  in  charms,  gains  fresh  beauty  from  time.  Her 
form  is  as  lithe  and  graceful,  her  eyes  are  as  bright,  her 
brow  as  umvrinkled,  her  voice  as  musical  as  when,  a  blue- 
eyed  playful  thing,  she  was  able  to  stray  by  herself  from  her 
home  in  the  mountains,  to  visit  the  quiet  homes  and  waving 
fields  below. 

Nor  are  her  visits  confined  to  a  particular  class :  witness 
the  pale,  worn  student,  whose  eyes,  wandering  from  his  well- 
thumbed  book,  are  resting  seemingly  on  vacancy,  but  are  in 
reality  fixed  upon  a  picture  in  which  all  that  is  desirable  in 
the  mind  of  the  dreamer  is  shadowed  forth  with  a  vividness 


THE   WELCOME   VISITOR.  11 

that  shall  glow  within  and  around  him,  for  the  remainder  of 
this  day,  with  an  intensity  that  sets  the  gloomy  attic,  with  its 
single  window  and  its  changeless  prospect  of  tiles,  dead  walls, 
and  broken  window-panes,  at  defiance ;  converting  them,  for 
the  nonce  into  a  kind  of  tropical  tower.  Witness  the  dark- 
ened study  of  the  young  artist,  whose  mahl  stick  is  tracing 
strange  figures  upon  that  bright  Italian  sky  that  it  has  taken 
so  much  pains  to  "  put  in,"  while  its  wielder  sinks  listlessly 
back  in  his  chair,  absorbed,  let  us  be  sure,  in  a  vision  of  his 
own  creating.  Witness  the  dim  retreats,  and  poor  abodes  of 
thousands  of  God's  creatures,  for  the  moment  resting  from 
their  toil,  and  whose  hearts,  all  unknown  to  them,  are  sending 
up  at  this  moment  a  voice  of  praise  to  the  bounteous  Creator 
of  all :  a  prayer  continually  arising  from  the  aisles  of 
Nature's  vast  cathedral,  piercing  this  earthly  film,  and  soaring 
with  the  angels  far  on  high — at  night,  when  strife  has  ceased 
and  all  is  still. 

Does  the  reader,  be  his  or  her  circumstances  what  they 
may,  recognise  the  description  ? 

It  is  the  Spirit  of  Home  :  of  all  the  words  in  the  language 
we  speak,  the  brightest !  of  all  the  words  in  the  language  wo 
speak,  summoning  into  existence  the  dearest  memories — 
bringing  into  being  what  hosts  of  pleasant  thoughts  and 
delightful  visions — recalling  to  existence  what  groups  of  smil- 
ing faces,  bright  with  the  flush  of  youth  and  early  promise, 
or  smiling  benignant  through  the  gathering  wrinkles  of 
honorable  age. 

Down  in  a  certain  quiet  valley — we  remember  it  well — 


12  VIOLET,    THE    CHILD    OF   THE  CITY. 

'» 

nestles  a  humble  cottage.  The  grass  grows  fresh  and  green 
about  it  now  as  it  did  of  yore — the  trees  wave  and  the  waters 
sparkle  now  as  they  did  then.  There  still  is  the  old  barn, 
and  the  well;  the  meadow,  and  the  fields,  the  stream,  and 
the  distant  spire ;  but  strangers  have  crossed  the  threshold, 
and  are  gathered  about  the  familiar  hearths  of  many  such, 
while  the  former  occupants — gone  many  a  long  year  since — 
it  was  after  the  division  of  the  estate,  as  you  all  know — to  the 
city  to  seek  their  fortunes ;  what  has  become  of  them  ?  Do 
they  or  theirs  still  survive  ?  and  if  so,  have  the  golden  results 
been  realized  which  they  fondly  pictured  to  themselves  when 
they  turned  to  take  the  last  look,  to  give  the  parting  grasp, 
and  to  drop,  let  us  hope  it,  a  tear,  for  the  Old  Homestead  that 
was  to  be  theirs  no  more  ? 

Let  us  trust  they  were  not  disappointed ;  but  even  if  success 
crowned  their  efforts,  may  it  not  bo  questioned  if  in  the  sur- 
rendering that  one  spot  of  earth  which  alone  was  home  to 
them,  and  for  which,  with  millions  at  their  back,  they  will  in 
vain  seek  a  substitute,  they  did  not  part  with  all  in  this  life 
worth  the  having  ? 

Make  the  most,  friend  artist,  friend  poet,  friend  artisan,  of 
that  little  gleam  of  sunshine  that  has  just  struggled  into  your 
overworked  brains  :  welcome  its  visit,  friend  merchant,  ere  your 
fortune  is  amassed,  and  you  sink  into  the  luxurious  tortures  of 
an  ostentatious  mansion.  If  to  any  of  you  the  thought  is  not 
all  distasteful,  there  is  still  an  oasis,  a  single  green  spot  left  to 
moisten  the  brain  and  to  chequer  the  desert  of  your  utilitarian 
existence. 


T11K   WELCOME   VISITOR.  13 

Happy  in  the  possession  of  such  memories  are  they  to  whom 
are  permitted  such  treasures  of  thought !  Though  they  perish 
in  poverty,  or  it  may  be,  in  far  distant  lands,  with  none  but 
the  hands  of  strangers  to  close  their  lids,  a  smile  will  wreathe 
the  wan  lips  as  the  breath  takes  its  departure :  a  single  bright 
memory  has  attended  the  flight  of  an  immortal  soul  to  Heaven ! 


VIOLET,   THE   CHILD    OF  T11K   CITY. 


CHAPTER  H. 

THE    OLD    HOMESTEAD. 

A  LOVELY  valley,  bordered  on  every  side  by  clustering 
masses  of  rich  and  many-colored  foliage,  intersects,  like  a  deep- 
set  scar  the  central  portion  of  Pennsylvania — not  the  least 
remarkable  feature  of  which  is  its  almost  total  seclusion  from 
the  turbulent  world  by  which  it  is  surrounded.  Owing  to  its 
utter  inapplicability  to  the  ordinary  purposes  of  traffic,  or  to  a 
combination  of  causes,  its  quiet  nooks  and  shady  glens  had, 
until  lately,  escaped  desecration,  and  railway  shares  and 
other  like  hallucinations  were  things  unknown. 

As  though  it  had  been  intended  that  nothing  should  be 
wanting  to  complete  the  attractions  of  this  favored  spot,  its 
inmates  seemed  to  have  become  imbued  with  the  spirit  of  peace 
which  brooded  over  it,  and  the  clacking  of  mill-wheels,  the 
foaming  of  miniature  water-falls,  the  lowing  of  cattle,  were 
almost  the  only  sounds  which  occurred  to  vary  its  delightful 
stillness. 

When  the  crimson  sunset  of  midsummer  is  lingering  upon 
the  tops  of  the  distant  hills,  enveloping  them  as  it  were  in  a 
purple  veil,  and  casting  into  the  shade  all  that  lies  between, 
the  beautiful  Susquehanna,  catching  the  fading  rays — 

"  As  slowly  they  blond  in  the  coming  of  eve," 


THE    OLD    HOMESTEAD.  15 

seems  transformed  by  their  subtle  alchemy  into  a  vein  of 
molten  gold,  and  glides  gently  upon  its  winding  course  amid 
the  far-off  hills,  until  lost  to  view  in  the  distance.  A  change 
now  comes  over  the  slumbering  landscape ;  the  last  sunbeam 
has  disappeared  reluctantly  from  the  loftiest  hill-top,  and 
yonder,  high  in  the  star-gemmed  arch  above,  the  early  moon 
comes  forth  with  her  train. of  glittering  satellites,  and  casts  a 
softer  glow  upon  the  scene.  From  among  the  trees  which 
line  the  valley  on  either  side,  a  multitude  of  little  lights  shine 
out  from  the  windows  of  the  cottages,  serving  as  beacons  to 
the  returning  husbandman  and  the  way-worn  traveller ;  and 
in  the  tangled  underwood  is  heard  the  ceaseless  chirping  of 
innumerable  crickets. 

It  was  on  such  a  night  as  that  we  have  just  described — 
the  time,  mid-summer — that  Walter  Lyle,  one  of  the  most 
industrious  and  prosperous  farmers  in  the  valley,  sat  down  in 
company  with  his  wife,  to  partake  of  their  evening  meal. 
The  kettle  sang  merrily  upon  the  hearth,  and  the  little  fire 
which  was  always  kept  burning,  let  the  weather  be  warm  or 
cold,  for  household  purposes,  threw  a  ruddy  glow  upon  the 
snow-white  tablecloth,  and  upon  the  simple  articles  of  furni- 
ture which  filled  the  room.  A  small  wicker  cradle  stood 
upon  the  floor,  midway  between  the  contented  couple,  con- 
taining a  certain  something,  which  was  just  then  very  active 
in  its  demonstrations  of  life,  and  which  neither  would  have 
bartered,  it  may  be  observed,  notwithstanding  its  noise,  for 
the  wealth  of  several  Californias.  Upon  the  broad  hearth- 
stone, with  his  nose  placed  as  closely  against  the  crackling 


16  VIOLET,    THE    CHILD    OF    THE   CITY. 

brands  as  the  heat  would  permit,  a  huge  and  shaggy  dog,  the 
farmer's  invariable  companion  in  his  daily  toil,  had  settled 
himself  cosily  down  for  an  hour's  uninterrupted  cogitation. 
One  other  living  object  the  room  contained,  which,  to  a 
stranger  unaccustomed  to  the  subdued  light  of  the  place, 
would  have  passed  unnoticed.  Nestled  close  to  the  side  of 
the  dog,  lay  a  boy  about  three  years  of  age,  whose  rich  brown 
locks  fell  in  a  profusion  of  curls  over  his  old  companion's 
shaggy  coat.  That  he  was  a  favorite,  might  be  divined  at 
once,  from  the  deep  interest  with  which  he  was  regarded, 
from  time  to  time,  by  the  elder  couple.  Owing  to  the  sultri- 
ness of  the  night,  the  windows  were  open,  and  the  chirping 
of  the  crickets  without,  and  the  singing  of  the  kettle  within, 
mingled  together  in  a  kind  of  domestic  chorus  by  no  means 
unpleasing  to  listen  to. 

The  cottage  was  in  itself  a  mere  band-box  of  a  place,  with 
hardly  sufficient  room  to  move  about  in,  and,  surveying  it  from 
without  as  a  stranger,  you  could  not  have  avoided  wondering 
how  human  beings  of  any  dimensions  could  contrive  to  live 
with  comfort  in  so  diminutive  a  dwelling.  Yet  Walter  Lyle 
and  his  buxom  wife  had  scarcely  bestowed  a  thought  upon 
the  matter,  but  had  lived  on  in  their  own  humble  way  from 
year  to  year,  without  a  care  to  disturb  the  tranquil  current  of 
their  existence. 

Mr.  Lyle  was  the  son  of  an  upright  and  thrifty  farmer,  and 
had  received  his  education,  although  a  plain  one,  in  common 
with  many  whose  families  occupied,  as  the  world  goes,  a  posi- 
tion far  superior  to  his  own.  Among  those  with  whom  he 


THE    OLD    HOMESTEAD.  lY 

became  in  this  manner  associated,  was  one  for  whom  the 
embryo  husbandman  conceived  an  ardent  friendship,  and,  so 
strong  became  the  attachment  between  the  two,  Walter  Lyle 
and  Pryce  Benedick,  grew  to  be  looked  upon  as  inseparable, 
sharing  all  things  in  common  with  each  other. 

Between  the  parents  of  the  two  lads  there  was,  however,  a 
marked  difference.  The  mother  of  Pryce  was  a  city  woman, 
inheriting,  as  such,  all  the  airs  and  accomplishments  which, 
in  this  age  of  civilization  and  refinement,  are  considered  a 
mark  of  good  breeding,  and  to  be  devoid  of  which  is  to  be 
set  down  as  vulgar,  and  unfit  for  contact  with  the  great 
world.  Of  course,  the  company  in  which  her  son  moved,  the 
clothes  he  wore,  and  the  language  he  used,  were  the  chief 
objects  of  her  maternal  solicitude  ;  while  the  father  was  con- 
tinually saying — "  What's  the  use  of  so  many  fine  clothes  ? 
the  boy's  well  enough  as  he  is.  Let  him  take  care  of  his 
pocket-money,  and  cultivate  bargainings  with  his  young 
friends,  and  I  have  no  fears  on  account  of  his  future  welfare." 
By  "  future,"  he  meant,  of  course,  the  world's  future  ;  not  that 
great  future  which  his  clergyman  was  so  energetic  in  thump- 
ing into  his  noddle  on  Sundays  three  times,  and  of  which  the 
old  gentleman  was  entirely  oblivious  during  the  remainder  of 
the  week.  For  a  long  time  the  naturally  candid  and  affec- 
tionate disposition  of  boyhood  set  at  nought  all  these  parental 
efforts  at  its  perversion,  but  the  incessant  repetition  of  such 
good  old  saws  as  "  take  care  of  No.  1  ;"  "  a  pin  a  day  is  a 
groat  a  year ;"  "  look  after  your  pennies  and  your  dollars  will 
look  after  themselves ;"  with  other  sage  admonitions  of  the 


18  VIOLET,   THE    CHILD    OF   THE    CITV. 

same  sort,  began  by  degrees  to  have  their  effect,  and  Pryce 
soon  bade  fair  to  become,  under  the  able  tuition  of  his 
parents,  a  thorough  snob. 

The  parents  of  Walter  Lyle  being  of  the  opposite  stamp,  and 
thinking  more  of  cultivating  in  him  those  manly  habits  and 
virtues  which  used  to  be  regarded  as  the  distinctive  attributes 
of  the  sex,  were,  of  course,  too  plain  for  the  society  of  such  as  the 
Benedicks,  and  although  the  families  had  originally  flourished 
as  neighbors  in  the  same  parish,  no  intercourse  was  kept 
up  between  them. 

As  time  passed  on,  the  two  lads  were  withdrawn  from  their 
studies,  and  separated  with  a  mutual  promise  never  to  lose 
sight  of  their  early  friendship,  but  to  stand  by  and  assist  one 
another  to  the  best  of  their  abilites,  whenever  future  occasion 
should  demand  it. 

Pryce  was  transplanted  to  one  of  the  first  colleges  at  the 
North,  where  he  vegetated  in  full  luxuriance  for  the  usual  term 
of  years,  and  was  then  withdrawn  by  his  father  to  assist  him 
in  the  counting-house,  and  generally  prepare  himself  to  become 
a  sharer  in  the  business.  This  step  was  not  effected  without 
some  resistance  on  the  part  of  Pryce's  mother.  She  wanted  to 
see  her  son  a  gentleman,  as  she  called  it,  and  in  her  opinion 
commerce  was  too  vulgar  a  thing  for  the  promising  youth  to 
soil  his  hands  withal. 

Mr.  Benedick  senior,  holding  the  money  bags,  however,  had 
his  own  way  in  this,  the  dearest  wish  of  his  heart,  and  Pryce 
became  a  merchant. 

His  comrade,  Lyle,  settled  down  upon  the  Old  Homestead, 


THE    OLD    HOMESTEAD.  19 

where  his  ancestors  had  for  so  many  years  settled  before  him. 
He  applied  himself  diligently  to  the  cultivation  of  the  soil, 
took  to  himself  a  young  and  blooming  wife,  and  eventually,  on 
the  demise  of  his  parents,  became  the  sole  possessor  of  the  little 
estate. 

At  the  time  of  his  introduction  to  the  reader,  Walter  Lyle's 
affairs  were  certainly  in  a  flourishing  condition,  and  up  to  this 
period  he  had  been  perfectly  satisfied  with  his  lot. 

From  time  to  time,  accounts  would  come  up  through  various 
channels  from  the  distant  city,  detailing  in  glowing  colors  the 
progress  of  the  Benedicks.  Pryce's  name,  at  first  hardly  men- 
tioned, soon  became  familiar  to  the  neighborhood,  through  the 
columns  of  the  journals,  first  as  simple  merchant,  then  as 
a  bank  director,  next,  the  president  of  insurance  and  other 
joint -stock  companies,  and,  finally,  as  one  of  the  largest  landed 
proprietors  in  this  and  the  adjoining  states.  To  cap  the  climax, 
one  of  Lyle's  fellow-villagers  had  recently  paid  a  visit  to  the 
city,  where'  he  had  called  on  Pryce,  by  whom  he  had  been 
invited  to  dine  with  him  at  his  house,  and  whom  he  described 
as  living  literally  in  the  lap  of  luxury. 

The  spirit  of  discontent,  hitherto  a  total  stranger  to  Lyle, 
began  to  rankle  there.  He  endeavored  to  struggle  against  the 
feeling,  but  in  vain.  It  had  taken  root,  and  was  proof  against 
all  attempts  at  eradication.  His  home,  until  now  a  paradise 
on  earth,  became  distasteful  to  him.  The  formerly  smiling 
orchards  assumed  a  desolate  look ;  his  garden  began  to  show 
signs  of  neglect,  and  it  became  painfully  evident  to  his  wife 
that  a  change  had  come  over  him. 


20  VIOLET,   THE   CHILD   OP  THE    CITT. 

Then  it  was  that  Mrs.  Lyle  used  all  her  woman's  arts  and 
blandishments  to  soothe  his  dissatisfied  mind,  and  obtain  from 
him  the  cause  of  his  strange  abstraction. 

On  the  evening  in  question  Lyle's  discontent  became  more 
painfully  manifest  than  ever.  He  had  been  to  the  neighboring 
village  that  day  upon  some  business  connected  with  the  farm, 
and  had  there  met  with  a  friend,  who  was  also  intimate  with 
the  Benedicks,  and  who  had  just  returned  from  the  city,  where 
he  had  been  feasted  and  entertained  by  Pryce  in  a  manner 
that  had  at  once  put  a  damper  upon  all  the  usual  allurements 
of  a  rural  life. 

"  There's  no  reason,"  he  said  to  Lyle,  who  was  somewhat 
excited  by  the  picture,  "  why  we  should  not  be  as  lucky  as  the 
Benedicks.  We've  a  little  money  salted  down,  and  almost  as 
good  as  idle  for  our  purposes,  and  we've  about  as  much  'cute- 
ness,  I  imagine,  as  Pryce  has.  I've  made  up  my  mind — I'm 
going  to  the  city,  let  who  will  stay  behind." 


THE    FALSE   STEP.  21 


CHAPTER    IIL 

X 

THE    FALSE    STEP. 

LYLE  went  home  with  his  mind  in  a  perfect  chaos.  The 
splendid  town  residence  of  the  Benedicks — who  had  recently 
built  a  fine  villa  in  his  vicinity,  and  had  given  out  that  they 
were  coming  there  to  ruralize  that  summer — the  luxury  in 
which  his  old  friend  Pryce  was  described  as  living — obtained 
a  firm  hold  upon  his  imagination.  Ambition  had  taken  root 
within  him,  and  Peace  was  extinguished  for  ever. 

"  Why,  Walter,  what  has  come  over  you  ?"  said  his  wife, 
with  an  anxious  expression  on  her  countenance — heretofore  a 
stranger  to  such  emotions.  "  You  used  to  be  noted  as  the 
most  cheerful  and  contented  person  in  the  valley.  What 
could  have  occurred  to  change  you  so  ?" 

"  I  have  been  thinking,  Mary,"  he  replied,  "  of  the  many 
happy  hours  we  have  passed  beneath  this  roof,  and  how  many 
poor  creatures  there  are  in  this  world  who  would  consider  a 
position  like  ours  only  too  great  a  luxury." 

"  And  yet,  there  is  nothing  in  all  this  to  make  you  gloomy. 
There  is  something  behind  all  this,  I  am  sure.  You  are  dis- 
satisfied with  something,  or  you  would  not  be  so  strangely 
altered." 


22  VIOLET,    THE    CHILD    OF   THE    CITf. 

"  Well,  then — how  penetrating  you  women  are  " — he  said, 
half-laughingly,  "  I  am  dissatisfied,  I  confess." 

"  For  shame,  Walter !  Has  not  Heaven  been  liberal  of  its 
favors  1  have  we  not  all  we  want  ?  and  would  it  not  be  a 
crime  to  ask  for  more  ?" 

"  Truly,  wife,  we  have  reason  to  be  thankful  to  Providence 
for  its  favors.  But  times  are  altering,  Mary,  and  what  was 
a  competence  a  while  ago,  is  little  or  nothing '  now.  If 
we  were  alone  we  need  have  no  care  for  the  future,  but  we 
have  children,  and  it  is  on  their  account  that  I  am  troubled." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you  exactly.  Our  farm  is  not  large 
enough,  perhaps." 

"  Oh-,  our  farm  is  large  enough,  but  then  it  is  not  exactly 
the  thing.  Most  of  our  old  neighbors  have  long  ago  come  to 
the  same  conclusion,  and  are  no  doubt  flourishing  in  the  city 
beyond  our  ideas.  I  own  that  I  should  like  to  build  up  as 
bright  a  prospect  for  Violet  and  our  little  Harry,  as  our  friend 
Pryce  is  building  for  his  children." 

"  You  do  not,  surely,  propose  to  part  with  the  farm,  Wal- 
ter ?" 

"  Why,  no,  Mary,  it  is  not  necessary  exactly  to  do  that  ?" 

"  Thank  God !"  she  ejaculated,  fervently. 

"  But  it  may  become  necessary  for  us  to  forsake  it  for  awhile. 
In  fact — and  this  is  the  first  secret  I  have  ever  kept  from  you 
— I  have  already  written  to  Pryce  about  the  matter,  and  he 
approves  very  highly  of  my  intentions.  We  will  merely  draw 
him  a  mortgage  upon  the  property,  and  with  the  money  thus 
obtained,  we  will  go  to  the  city,  and  imitate  his  example." 


THE    FALSE    STEP.  23 

"  You  talk,  Walter,  as  if  the  thing  was  already  done.  You 
forget  that  Pryce  had  wealthy  parents  to  assist  him,  and  a 
business  already  made  to  his  hands." 

"  That  is  nothing,  where  one  is  determined,"  rejoined  Lyle. 
"  I  flatter  myself  that  I  am  as  able  and  intelligent  as  Pryco 
Benedick,  and  that  shall  make  up  what  I  want  in  capital." 

Mrs.  Lyle  was  devoted  to  her  husband,  and  not  less  so 
to  her  home,  but  she  had  made  it  a  principle  to  follow  his 
guidance  in  all  things,  and  she  would  not  dispute  with  him 
even  now.  For  a  little  time  she  held  out,  displaying  before 
him  every  argument  that  she  could  think  of  to  induce  him  to 
change  his  mind  ;  but  he  was  so  set  in  his  determination,  that 
she  saw  at  once  it  was  useless  to  dissuade  him  further. 

A  letter  received  from  Benedick,  and  shortly  after  a  visit  in 
person  from  that  important  personage,  confirmed  him  in  his 
resolution,  and  the  farm  was  mortgaged. 

Lyle  did  not  know  how  much  he  was  in  reality  attached  to 
the  place,  until  the  day  had  come  when  he  was  obliged  to 
leave  it.  The  last  Sabbath  had  arrived  which  Lyle  was  to 
pass  in  the  valley,  and  it  was  the  first  Sabbath  in  his  life  that 
had  ever  been  to  him  so  full  of  meaning.  It  was  a  day  that 
the  inhabitants  of  the  spot  were  rarely  known  to  disregard, 
and  on  this  occasion  they  appeared  to  have  turned  out  in 
unusual  numbers. 

It  was  a  pleasing  sight  to  observe,  the  disjointed  procession 
of  rustics — as  they  pursued  their  customary  route  toward  the 
little  church  which  served  as  a  place  of  worship  to  all  the 
honest  farmers  for  miles  around.  Their  attire,  plain  but  neat 


24  VIOLET,    THE    CHILD    OF   THE    CITV. 

to  a  degree  ;  the  cheerful  air  worn  by  their  respective  coun- 
tenances ;  the  meaning  glances  of  the  younger  couples,  who 
had  evidently  profited  by  the  command  that  they  should  "love 
their  neighbors  as  themselves,"  and  showed  it  accordingly ; 
the  vigilant  looks  of  the  seniors,  who,  notwithstanding,  cared 
not  to  interfere  with  their  love-making ;  the  unrestrained 
prattling  of  the  children  ;  the  clear  and  musical  tones  of  the 
church  bell,  which  might  be  heard,  small  though  it  was, 
from  one  end  of  the  valley  to  the  other,  and  was  its  dearest 
music  ;  the  brilliant  colors  of  the  flowers  and  the  redundancy 
of  the  foliage ;  the  twittering  of  hundreds  of  birds,  whose 
tiny  voices  were  mingled  with  the  bubbling  sound  of  many 
a  sparkling  spring  and  rivulet ;  and  over  all,  the  clear 
unclouded  sky  and  brilliant  sun  lent  to  the  scene  an  aspect  of 
enchantment,  worth  all  the  spectacles  the  world  ever 
produced. 

All  these  things  Walter  Lyle  had  noticed  over  and  again  ; 
he  was  familiar  with  every  bird,  and  bush,  and  tree.  There 
was  not  a  single  landmark  with  which  he  was  unacquainted. 
He  had  passed  all  these  things  many  a  time  unnoticed,  but 
now  nothing  escaped  his  attention.  His  friends  crowded 
around  him  at  the  church,  astonished  at  the  news ;  all  were 
more  warm  in  their  demeanor  than  he  had  known  them  before. 
Some  congratulated  him  and  declared  that  they  meant  to 
follow  his  example.  Others  wished  him  success,  but  shook 
their  heads  ominously  at  the  prospect,  while  some  openly 
lectured  him  for  his  egregious  folly.  Lyle  went  home,  strange 
to  say,  with  a  feeling  of  dread  at  his  heart. 


THE    FALSE    STEP.  25 

How  the  Old  Homestead  loomed  up  to  his  vision  now ! 
Rude  as  it  was,  it  now  appeared  a  palace.  He  was  aston- 
ished that  he  had  before  been  so  unobservant  of  the  beauties 
of  the  place  he  had  called  his  own.  His  wife  stopped  him 
for  a  moment  at  the  threshold,  and  looking  confidingly 
into  his  preoccupied  countenance,  said — 

"  Walter,  the  thing  is  done,  and  it's  of  no  use  repining. 
I  know  everything  that  has  been  passing  in  your  mind  this 
last  half  hour ;  but  trust  me,  hope  and  confidence  will  now  be 
more  in  place  than  vain  regrets.  In  this  place  we  were 
brought  up — in  this  place  were  passed  the  happy  hours  of  our 
courtship.  Let  us  never,  under  whatever  vicissitudes,  dear 
Walter,  forget  the  good  Old  Homestead  ;  but,  while  striving 
for  the  best,  let  us  indulge  in  a  hope  that  no  worse  fate  may 
overtake  us  than  to  lay  our  bones  in  a  spot  consecrated  by 
so  many  memories." 

A  brighter  look  passed  over  his  countenance  as  she  con- 
cluded. 

"  With  such  a  wife,"  he  said,  "  to  aid  me  in  carrying  out 
my  plans,  I  have  nothing  to  fear !" 

4 


VIOLET,  THE   CHILD    OF  THE    CITr. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

CHRISTMAS   EVS    IX   TOWN. 

IT  was  the  night  before  Christmas.  Snow  lay  upon  the 
sidewalks  to  the  depth  of  several  inches,  and  the  unsparing 
wind  went  whistling  through  keyholes  and  crevices  with  a 
dismal  sound,  whirling  the  falling  flakes  in  clouds  against  the 
frosted  window-panes — where  they  seemed  to  melt  and  fall 
back  from  the  brightness  that  streamed  from  within.  Mamma, 
with  her  knitting  or  her  quiet  game  of  whist ;  Estelle  with 
the  latest  gilded  annual ;  the  children  with  their  toys — even 
that  once  revered,  but  now  quite  commonplace  member  of  the 
household  whom  we  used  to  venerate  under  the  title  of 
"father,"  but  whom,  not  to  be  behind  the  times,  we  now 
designate  as  the  "  old  gentleman,"  or  "  the  governor,"  do  not 
mind  the  pattering  without,  but  consider  that  it  adds  some- 
what to  the  cheerfulness  within.  The  lights  glitter  gaily, 
nevertheless,  in  the  elegant  windows  of  shops  that  seem  to 
grow  plethoric  with  piled-up  luxuries  of  every  kind  and  hue, 
while  here  and  there  a  gleam  of  ruddy  light  shines  out  from 
the  ornamented  casements  of  some  aristocratic  dwelling  upon 
the  murky  atmosphere,  and  the  thrilling  laugh  of  the  gay  and 
beautiful  mingles  its  tones  with  the  notes  of  dulcet  music  and 
the  voice  of  the  wintry  wind. 


CHRISTMAS   EVE   IN   TOWN.  27 

Oh  !  those  pleasant  evenings  before  Christmas  1  How  they 
loom  up  in  our  memories,  freighted  with  so  many  reminiscen- 
ces of  good  and  ill !  What  a  wealthy  store  of  recollections 
lies  treasured  in  the  cabinet  of  the  heart,  awaiting  the  return 
of  each  succeeding  Christmas  Eve  to  recall  them  in  all  their 
brightness  to  our  minds.  Happy  are  they  to  whom,  at  the 
winding  up  of  every  year,  occur  such  thoughts  as  these  ;  and 
happy,  in  every  sense  of  the  word,  was  Mr.  Pryce  Benedick, 
who,  on  the  night  in  question,  turned  from  the  door  of  a  well- 
known  curiosity  shop  in  one  of  the  great  thoroughfares  of  the 
modern  Babel,  loaded  down  with?  a  supply  of  "  sundries," 
intended  for  distribution  among  the  favored  ones  at  home. 

Pleasant  thoughts  of  the  delight  with  which  his  appearance 
would  be  welcomed  by  his  rather  numerous  family,  and  of 
the  comfortable  fireside  (how  comfortable,  with  its  polished 
bars  and  heaps  of  glowing  Liverpool ! )  around  which  they  were 
grouped,  in  eager  anticipation  of  his  coming,  passed  rapidly 
through  his  mind,  and  added  fresh  agility  to  his  steps.  He 
had  not  forgotten  his  wife  among  the  rest,  as  a  magnificent 
shawl,  snugly  stowed  away  beneath  his  arm,  bore  ample  and 
convincing  testimony. 

But  Pryce  lived  a  long  way  off,  and  the  stages  were  full ; 
and  even  had  this  not  been  the  case,  his  parcels  would  have 
been  in  the  way  (you  never  caught  Pryce  trusting  anything 
to  the  driver,  since  the  day  when  one  of  the  fraternity 
chiselled  him  out  of  a  "  fip").  A  shorter  cut  through  some 
by-streets  would  materially  diminish  the  distance,  and, 
besides,  he  should  save  the  amount  of  his  ^are ;  so  Pryce 


28  VIOLET,   THE    CHIiD    OF   THE    CITT. 

drew  his  well-lined  cloak  more  closely  about  him,  and  was 
soon  lost  in  the  intricacies  of  one  of  the  many  darkly-lighted 
streets,  lying  between  Broadway  and  that  Boulevards  of  the 
eastern  side,  the  Bowery. 

The  intricacies  and  entanglements  of  that  particular  portion 
of  the  Metropolis  have  proved  a  source  of  annoyance  and 
vexation  to  more  than  one  advocate  of  city  reform  and 
straight  thoroughfares,  and  they  became  on  this  occasion  not 
less  so  to  Mr.  Pryce  Benedick.  The  snow,  driving  against 
the  exposed  portions  of  his  face  (there  were  no  brilliant  lights 
in  the  windows  here,  and  "the  cold  seemed  possessed  of  a  ten- 
fold greater  intensity)  almost  blinded  him,  and  when  he  was 
at  length  enabled,  during  a  temporary  lull  in  the  storm,  to 
look  around  him,  he  found  himself  in  a  quarter  of  the  city  to 
him  totally  unknown.  His  walks  had  always  taken  him  in 
pleasant  places,  and  now  that  he  found  himself  transplanted, 
as  if  by  magic,  to  a  spot  where  all  the  accounts  that  he  had 
read  of  city  destitution  and  city  distress,  were  in  some  degree 
realized,  he  was  as  a  sleep-walker  suddenly  restored  to  his 
senses. 

The  neighborhood  into  which  the  evil  genius  of  Pryce 
Benedick  had  led  him  was  not,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  of  a  char- 
acter to  inspire  with  confidence  many  a  bolder  and  less  scrupu- 
lous man  than  he.  In  fact,  he  had,  without  knowing  it,  thrust 
himself  into  the  very  heart  of  that  American  St.  Giles's,  the 
Five  Points,  and  every  effort  that  he  made  to  effect  his  release 
seemed  only  to  bewilder  him  the  more.  To  add  to  his  con- 
fusion, the  storm  was  momentarily  increasing,  and,  in  spite  of 


CHBISTMA8   KVE   IN  TOWX.  29 

his  comfortable  clothing,  his  teeth  began  to  chatter,  and  an 
ague  seemed  to  have  taken  possession  of  his  limbs.  A  lumin- 
ous idea  occurs  to  him  :  he  will  call  on  the  police.  "  Holloa !" 

A  few  repetitions  of  that  experiment  convince  him  that  he 
might  call  upon  the  walls  themselves  with  as  reasonable  ex- 
pectation of  their  answering.  As  if  to  aggravate  the  horrors 
of  his  situation,  a  vision  of  that  comfortable  home  where  his 
wife  and  little  ones  are  so  anxiously  looking  for  his  coming 
steals  across  his  perplexed  and  agitated  mind,  and  almost  mad- 
dens him  by  the  contrast. 

All  at  once  he  stops,  and  as  he  does  so,  a  hand  is  laid  upon 
his  arm.  Its  touch  is  a  gentle  one,  but  Mr.  Benedick  jumps 
aside,  and  staggers  as  if  he  had  been  struck  with  a  slung-shot. 
They  had  paused  underneath  the  only  street-lamp  within 
sight,  and  as  Pryce  hurriedly  scrutinized  the  countenance 
before  him,  he  felt  somewhat,  though  not  wholly,  reassured. 
It  was  that  of  a  girl,  not  more  than  fifteen  years  of  age 
— perhaps  not  that — with  a  face  which  might  have  been 
called  handsome,  had  it  not  been  for  a  look  expressive  of  care, 
which  imparted  to  her  features  an  old  and  faded  expression. 
Her  garments — if  garments  we  may  call  them — were  scanty, 
and  so  ragged  that  they  could  scarce  be  kept  together.  A 
miserable  apology  for  shoes  hardly  served  to  protect  her  stock- 
ingless  feet,  and  she  had  only  a  threadbare  and  tattered  shawl 
to  shield  her  young  head  from  the  pitiless  pelting  of  the  ele- 
ments. 

"  Well,  then,  young  woman,"  Pryce  managed  to  say,  after 
he  had  scrutinized  her  sufficiently  to  feel  assured  that  she 


30  VIOLET,  THE   CHILD   OF   THE    CITT. 

could  do  him  no  harm :  "  what  do  you  want  in  the  streets  at 
such  a  time,  and  in  such  weather,  too  ?" 

"  Oh !  sir,"  she  answered,  "  mother  is  ill  and  dying."  And 
there  she  stopped,  as  if  the  very  thought  had  deprived  her  of 
the  power  of  utterance ;  but  her  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  rich 
man's  face  with  a  look  that  told,  in  a  glance,  what  volumes 
could  not  have  conveyed  :  a  long  history  of  family  wretched- 
ness and  privation.  But  it  did  not  particularly  impress  our 
friend  Pryce,  who  seemed  quite  indignant  at  being  stopped  in 
that  manner,  and  demanded  of  the  girl,  in  not  the  softest  tone 
of  voice,  we  are  afraid,  "  what  had  he  to  do  with  her  mother's 
illness  ?" 

"I  beg  pardon,  sir,"  she  replied,  timidly — perceiving  that 
she  had  offended  him — "  but  we  were  not  always  so,  sir. 
Father  has  seen  better  times,  and  only  for  being  very  unfor- 
tunate—" 

"  He  might  have  been  fortunate,  I  suppose.  Aye,  aye — 
that's  the  old  burthen  of  the  song,"  retorted  Benedick,  with  a 
fresh  shiver ;  "  but  I  mustn't  stand  here  any  longer,  or  I  shall 
never  reach  home  alive,  unless  it's  on  a  shutter." 

"  Home,  sir  :  have  you  got  a  home  ?  how  happy  you  must 
be!" 

Benedick  paused  in  extricating  his  coat  from  the  grasp  of 
the  child,  and  looked  at  her  with  something  like  an  expression 
of  pity  in  his  countenance.  After  all,  he  thought  it  possible 
that  there  might  be  some  who  had  no  home,  and  his  own  ex- 
perience in  street-walking  for  the  last  few  minutes  caused  him 
to  have  a  faint  idea  of  what  the  feelings  might  be  of  such  an 


CHRISTMAS    EVE    IN    TOWN.  81 

unfortunate.  "  No  home,  eh  ?  that's  bad,  my  child — very  bad, 
my  little  girl.  If  it  was  only  a  single  room,  now,  or  even  an 
attic—" 

Mr.  Benedick  had  not  the  faintest  idea  of  the  straits  to  which 
the  poor  are  sometimes  reduced  in  that  last  stage  of  helpless- 
ness which  is  the  joint  product  of  disease  and  want.  The 
various  charitable  associations  of  the  city  were  amply  com- 
petent, he  imagined,  to  alleviate  the  distress  of  the  penniless, 
and  where  these  were  not  accessible,  the  Alms  House  and  the 
Hospital,  must  surely,  he  thought,  be  sufficient.  Mr.  Bene- 
dick had  not  been  a  very  close  observer  of  human  nature,  it 
must  be  allowed.  Occupied  from  his  earliest  manhood  with 
the  duties  of  the  counting-room,  to  the  exclusion  of  all  other 
pursuits,  he  had  never  taken  the  trouble  to  examine  into  thoso 
simple  annals  of  the  poor,  which  go  farther  than  all  the  homi- 
lies ever  written  to  convince  us  of  the  uncertainty  of  all  sub- 
lunary things,  and  to  make  us  doubt  whether,  with  all  the 
boasted  Christianity  and  civilization  of  the  age,  we  are  any 
better  off  in  the  scale  of  humanity  than  our  red-skinned  breth- 
ren, who  are  accused  of  being  familiar  only  with  deeds  of 
cruelty,  and  who,  it  is  even  said  of  them,  do  not  at  times  object 
to  a  dish  of  "  cold  clergyman,"  by  way  of  dessert.  At  the 
time  of  which  we  write,  neither  he,  nor  the  clergy,  nor  all 
the  humanitarian  philosophers  in  a  small  way,  who  make 
the  trials  and  vicissitudes  of  human  nature  their  hobby,  and 
sometimes  their  livelihood,  had  dreamt  of  diving  into  the  miser- 
able garrets,  and  still  more  miserable  cellars,  wherein  the  chil- 
dren of  poverty  hold  high  carnival  in  their  rao^s,  to  ascertain 


32  VIOLET,    THE   CHILD    OF   THE    CTTT. 

what  might  be  done  for  them,  and  thus  it  became  impossible 
to  realize  their  situation  in  the  full  extent  of  its  horrors. 

So,  when  the  child  spoke  of  home,  in  a  way  that  brought 
tears  into  her  eyes,  if  it  did  not  into  his,  he  became  suspicious 
that  all  was  not  right  with  regard  to  her  morals,  and  hurriedly 
thrusting  his  hand  into  his  pocket  he  pulled  forth  a  dime, 
which  he  gave  her  without  the  slightest  qualm  of  conscience, 
and  bidding  her  advise  her  father  to  apply  to  the  Alms  House 
without  delay,  he  tore  himself  from  the  irresolute  grasp  of  that 
childish  hand,  and  was  soon  lost  to  her  view  in  the  darkness. 


A   PICTURE   OP   LIFE — AND   DEATH.  33 


CHAPTER  V. 

A   PICTURE    OF    LIFE AND    DEATH. 

IN  the  very  heart  of  the  city — blocking  up  the  transit 
across  it  in  such  a  manner  that  it  would  seem  to  have 
been  laid  out  especially  as  a  hindrance  to  those  whom 
business  or  pleasure  might  lead  in  either  direction,  and 
affording  naturally  a  focus  or  centre  for  all  the  filth  and 
wickedness  of  that  region — nestles  a  spot,  the  fame  of  which 
has  grown  to  be  almost  as  familiar  to  the  ears  of  our 
country  neighbors  as  to  those  of  the  worthy  legislators  under 
whose  paternal  care  it  has  become  one  of  the  most  flourish- 
ing institutions  of  our  beloved  island.  In  other  parts  of 
the  town,  vice  is  only  tolerated  because  it  is  found  to  be 
difficult  of  removal,  because  it  is  but  new  to  the  neighbor- 
hoods to  which  it  has  been  transferred ;  or,  possibly,  because 
the  attention  of  the  authorities  has  not  yet  been  sufficiently 
aroused  to  the  necessity  for  its  extermination.  Here  it  is 
encouraged  in  all  its  hideous  deformity.  The  Five  Points  is 
a  vast  manufactory  of  crime  in  all  its  phases — a  Moral  Lazar 
House,  where  corruption  has  full  sway,  from  the  incipient 
stages  in  which  it  first  becomes  recognizable  under  a  name 
to  those  in  which  it  blossoms  forth  perennially,  like  the  fabled 
Upas — every  bough  bearing  seeds  which  fall  to  the  ground 

•2* 


34  VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     OP    THE     CITY. 

only  to  produce  in  turn  their  crop  of  villany  and  licentious- 
ness, or  are  borne  upon  the  wings  of  the  wind  to  scatter 
broadcast  the  pernicious  influence  which  may  now  be  seen  in 
vigorous  existence  on  every  hand  of  us — penetrating  even 
into  our  halls  of  legislation — into  quarters  where  public 
responsibility  was  heretofore  considered  an  efficient  safeguard 
against  its  snares. 

Custom,  it  may  be  well  said,  reconciles  us  to  many  things 
which,  were  they  suddenly  presented  to  us  for  the  first  time 
for  our  acceptance  or  approval,  would  be  recoiled  from  with 
loathing  and  disgust,  proportioned  to  the  importance  of  the 
subject.  If  such  a  plague-spot  as  the  Five  Points  had 
hitherto  been  unknown  among  us,  and  a  scheme  for  the 
establishment  of  such  an  "  institution"  were  to  be  unexpectedly 
thrust  upon  our  notice  by  some  alderman  or  legislator  of  the 
year  1853,  or  some  place-hunting  Congressman  of  the  present 
writing,  how  many  voters,  does  the  reader  imagine,  could  be 
found  to  support  such  a  bill  ?  None !  is  the  indignant  reply ; 
not  one. ! 

We  rejoice  to  think  that  there  is  even  so  much  morality 
yet  unextinguished  in  our  midst  We  will  license  the  third 
tier,  the  dram  shop  and  the  brothel — we  will  wink  at  the 
gambling  dens  and  gilded  saloons  of  our  thousand  sportsmen 
and  ten  thousand  Cyprians — we  will  slumber  over  the  idea  of 
slavery  and  its  concomitant  horrors,  and  we  will  continue  to 
build  penitentiaries  and  prisons  for  the  reception  of  the 
wretched  outcasts  whom  we  have  so  largely  contributed  to  fit 
for  their  final  degradation.  But  we  will  not,  with  our  eyea 


A     PICTURE     OF    LIKE AND     DEATH.  85 

open,  countenance  anything  tliat  looks  vicious  or  immoral. 
Does  not  the  Reverend  Mr.  Srniler  statedly  expatiate  to  his 
open-mouthed  (but  close-eared)  congregation,  as  well  as  the 
famous  popular  lecturer,  Mr.  Gammon,  to  his  admiring 
audiences,  upon  the  increasing  civilization,  wisdom  and 
morality  of  the  age  ?  And  are  we  going  so  seriously  to 
damage  our  natural  self-love,  and  abnegate  facts,  as  to  tell 
them  that  they  are  mistaken — that  both  Mr.  Smiler  and  Mr. 
Gammon,  on  such  occasions,  wear  colored  spectacles  to  view 
the  world  through  ?  We  fear,  after  all,  that  there  is  very 
little  of  Bacon  in  our  friend  Gammon's  philosophy.  Speak 
of  the  Five  Points  to  one  of  the  City  Fathers,  a  hundred 
years  hence,  and  he'll  hardly  believe  you. 

If  there  be  any  to  whom  our  meaning  is  not  yet  rendered 
plain,  a  walk  of  brief  duration  through  the  locality  we  have 
mentioned  will  dispel  the  gratifying  picture  drawn  by  the 
Gammons  and  the  Smilers  of  our  day,  and  lead,  perhaps,  a 
few  to  look  upon  society  in  the  true  light  in  which  it  should 
be  presented  to  their  view.  Composed,  for  the  most  part,  of 
a  collection  of  filthy  and  time-worn  buildings,  many  of  which 
contain  a  dozen  families,  and  comprising  within  its  limits 
what  might  have  been  (and  may  still  be)  rendered  the  finest 
and  most  valuable  portion  of  the  island,  the  Five  Points  is 
a  city  within  itself;  its  inhabitants  a  community  speaking  the 
same  language,  but  having  very  few  traits  of  character  in 
common  with  those  around  them.  Nothing  can  be  more 
complete  than  their  isolation  from  the  rest  of  society.  Like 
that  of  similar  places  in  the  larger  European  cities,  this  popu- 


38  VIOLET,   THE     CHILD     OF    THE    CITT. 

lation  is  composed  of  the  very  dregs  of  humankind  :  the  thief 
and  the  receiver,  called,  in  the  diction  of  the  police  reports, 
his  fence — the  pawn-broker,  the  dealer  in  second-hand  goods, 
and  the  dram-seller — the  keeper  of  the  den  of  infamy  and  the 
dance-house — these  are  the  aristocrats  of  the  place ;  thrusting 
daily  and  hourly,  under  cognizance  (we  had  almost  said,  by 
authority),  of  the  law,  their  infernal  wiles  in  the  paths  of  the 
desolate  and  down-trodden  herd  who,  at  the  acme  of  their 
sufferings,  find  a  refuge  here,  and  spend  in  drunkenness  and 
riot  the  small  amount  of  their  earnings  as  long-shore-men, 
rag-pickers,  and  the  like. 

EVIL,  in  brief,  is  the  predominating  influence  of  the  place, 
although  here  and  there  an  honest  sempstress,  or  a  decayed 
artisan  may  be  found ;  the  most  horrible  passions,  the 
most  sensual  desires,  the  most  atrocious  villanies  are  there 
engendered;  not,  as  in  the  more  accessible  and  better- 
peopled  districts,  by  night,  but  in  the  free  and  open  light  of 
heaven.  Vice — a  thing  to  be  glossed  over  everywhere — is  a 
matter  of  commerce  here.  Poverty  of  the  bitterest  descrip- 
tion stares  from  uncovered  vaults  and  sashless  windows ; 
cellars  of  common  resort  and  doors  of  dilapidated  corner- 
groceries  seem  gaping  for  their  prey.  At  the  principal 
entrance  to  this  modern  Avernus — a  fitting  portal  for  the 
place — the  city  prison,  more  appropriately  named,  "  The 
Tombs,"  rears  its  dull  walls  against  the  leaden  sky. 

Leaving  Pryce  Benedick  to  find  his  way  homeward  as  well 
as  he  might,  the  child  turned  her  steps  toward  that  part  of 
the  Points  now  occupied  by  the  Mission  House,  but  then 


A    PICTURE     OF    LIFE AND     DEATH.  87 

given  over  without  let  or  hindrance  to  the  soul-killing  pur- 
poses of  the  Old  Brewery. 

In  front  of  this  edifice  a  few  faint  gleams  of  light,  strug- 
gling with  difficulty  from  the  oil  lamps  e>f  the  street  to  the 
dirty  pavement,  disclosed  a  crowd  of  people,  who,  grouped  in 
little  knots  of  two  or  three,  gazed  with  looks  of  curiosity,  not 
unmingled  with  fear,  at  the  tenement  in  question.  The  cause 
of  this  gathering  was  a  succession  of  shrieks,  evidently 
uttered  by  some  person  in  the  greatest  distress  :  at  one 
moment,  ringing  out  loud  and  clear  upon  the  air  in  the  wild- 
est accents  of  mortal  anguish,  and  the  next  subsiding  into  a 
series  of  low  convulsive  moans,  that  were  almost  as  terrible  to 
listen  to.  At  times,  these  cries  would  cease  altogether,  and 
figures  might  be  detected  flitting  at  intervals  about  the  win- 
dows. 

In  this  building  was  transpiring  one  of  those  fearful  scenes 
which  rob  life  of  the  gaudy  colors  in  which  the  pen  of  the 
author  and  the  pencil  of  the  artist  have  delighted  to  dress  it, 
and  hold  it  forth  in  its  most  sickening  aspect — a  frightful 
reality  !  In  an  apartment  on  the  highest  floor  of  the  build- 
ing known  as  the  Brewery,  some  dozen  or  more  of  persons 
.were  congregated  to  witness  the  last  struggles  of  an  unfortu- 
nate, whose  spirit  was  at  that  moment  escaping  from  its 
mortal  tenement.  The  walls  of  this  wretched  place  were 
covered  with  a  damp  exhalation,  which  had  bestowed  upon 
them,  in  combination  with  the  smoke  of  a  century,  a  hue  in 
which  the  original  color  was  hardly  discernible.  In  many 
places  the  plastering  was  intersected  by  innumerable  cracks, 


88  VIOLET,   THE     CHILD     Off    THE     CITY. 

the  lodging-places  of  a  horde  of  loathsome  insects — while  in 
others  it  had  entirely  fallen  away,  exposing  to  view  the 
rough  discolored  bricks. 

A  broken  chair"  a  ricketty  table,  and  a  few  of  the  most 
indispensable  articles  for  domestic  use,  were  the  only  evi- 
dences of  furniture  which  met  the  eye,  and  upon  a  wretched 
straw  pallet  in  the  corner  was  stretched  a  woman,  or  rather 
the  faint  outline  of  one,  whose  incessant  ravings  and  restless 
movements  would  seem  to  mark  the  ravages  of  some  fatal 
disease. 

The  scene  was  a  striking  one,  and  was  evidently  not  with- 
out its  effect  upon  the  miscellaneous  assemblage  that  had 
crowded  about  the  bedside  to  witness  the  last  moments  of  an 
erring  fellow-being.  Yet  all  this  did  not  prevent  the  sounds 
of  a  fiddle,  the  stamping  of  rough-shod  feet,  and  the  noise  of 
Bacchanalian  voices  from  piercing  to  where  the  dying  woman 
lay. 

By  her  side,  with  one  of  her  small  skinny  hands  firmly 
clasped  in  his  own,  sat  a  man  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  whoso 
countenance  showed  too  plainly  that  hunger  and  disease  had 
also  been  busy  there.  His  countenance  had  once  been  hand- 
some, but  want  had  stamped  the  high  forehead  with  her 
unmistakable  seal,  and  left,  instead  of  the  natural  frank 
expression,  a  look  of  dogged  defiance.  The  only  bright  fea- 
ture in  the  picture  was  the  girl  whom  we  have  observed  in  con- 
versation with  Benedick.  She  had  entered  the  room  unper- 
ceived  by  any  of  those  more  immediately  about  the  bed,  and 
as  she  fell  on  her  knees  at  the  side  of  her  mother,  the  disen- 


A    PICTURB    OF    LIFE — AND    DEATH.  39 

gaged  hand  resting  in  her  own,  and  her  eyes,  although 
streaming  with  tears,  upturned  to  heaven,  an  angel  seemed  to 
have  alighted  among  the  little  group  of  watchers.  Among 
all  the  misery  and  abandonment  of  the  place,  the  Silent 
Appeal  was  not  forgotten — at  least,  by  one  ! 

"  She  teaches  us  our  duty  at  the  last  hour,"  muttered  the  man 
who  had  caught  the  girl's  phrenzied  motion — "  Let  us  pray  !" 

For  some  moments  a  deep  silence  reigned  throughout  the 
apartment.  The  sick  woman  seemed  to  comprehend,  the 
meaning  of  the  stillness,  and  to  join  in  the  devotion.  Then 
eyes  that  had  been  unused  for  many  a  year  to  the  melting 
mood  streamed  with  tears,  and  more  than  one  sob  was  heard 
among  the  female  portion  of  the  spectators.  Who  knows 
what  long-forgotten  dreams  that  sonorous  "  Let  us  pray" 
had  summoned  afresh  into  existence  ?  What  happy  homes 
and  quiet  hearths,  and  sports  of  early,  innocent  childhood  its 
magic  might  have  called  into  being  in  minds  long  since 
grown  callous,  it  was  supposed,  to  such  impressions  ?  The 
incense  of  such  tears  ascends  to  the  judgment-seat,  and  will 
be  set  to  their  credit  at  the  final  reckoning  ! 

The  silence  is  broken  by  the  woman.  Her  eyes  are  seem- 
ingly fixed  in  a  vacant  stare,  but  something  must  have 
attracted  her  attention,  to  make  her  gaze  so  earnestly  and 
long.  At  last,  the  feeble  lids  are  lowered — the  eyes,  that  are 
growing  dimmer  with  each  succeeding  breath,  rest  for  a 
moment  upon  a  miniature  that  lies  upon  the  counterpane, 
where  it  has  seemingly  fallen  from  her  hands.  For  a  single 
moment  the  faint  look  of  those  waning  orbs  brightens, — they 
close  again,  and  death  has  claimed  hia  own  ! 


40  VIOLET,   THE    CHILD    07    THE    CITf. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE    RESULT    OP   A    FALSE    STEP. 

AFTER  all,  a  death  more  or  less  makes  little  difference — at 
least  to  the  great  world  which  is  throbbing  and  bustling 
around  us.  Scarcely  has  the  curtain  descended  on  this  drama 
of  a  life  (in  this  case  it  has  proved  a  failure,  and  the  Great 
Author  has  revoked  his  unappreciated  work),  when  fresh  sounds 
of  merriment  disturb  the  silence  of  that  gloomy  chamber.  A 
roar  of  laughter,  called  forth  in  all  probability  by  some  coarse 
attempt  at  wit,  floats  upward  on  the  heavy  atmosphere  of  the 
place.  There  is  a  renewed  stamping  of  feet,  as  if  the  dancers 
feel  no  longer  trammelled  by  the  presence  of  departing  mor- 
tality, and  are  eager  to  make  up  for  their  former  constraint. 
The  fiddle  mews,  whines  and  gurgles  with  increasing  energy. 
Christmas  Eve  is  a  festival  night  in  the  Brewery,  and  to- 
morrow half  the  number  may  be  dead,  or  imprisoned,  or 
starving — who  cares  ? 

Dark  as  that  apartment  naturally  was,  it  had  grown  dim- 
mer since  the  departure  of  her  who  had  been  the  lone  man's 
constant  comfort  in  sickness  and  adversity,  as  well  as  in 
days  when  the  sun  shone  not  quite  so  dimly  upon  the  for- 
tunes of  that  little  family.  Few,  out  of  the  small  number 
of  those  who  had  known  and  esteemed  him  in  his  hour 


THE    RESULT    OF    A    FALSE    STEP.  41 

of  prosperity,  would  have  recognized  in  the  disconsolate 
husband  the  once  careless  and  contented  Walter  Lyle. 
To  him  the  Familiar  Spirit  comes  this  night.  But  her  face  is 
sad,  and  a  cloud  rests  upon  her  usually  radiant  forehead. 

The  story  of  the  Lyles  is  but  a  repetition  of  that  of  thou- 
sands who  had  gone  before  them.  Forgetful  of  the  difference 
between  their  respective  positions,  Lyle  had,  immediately  upon 
establishing  himself  in  the  city,  set  out  to  rival  his  friends,  the 
Benedicks,  in  their  splendor.  Invited  at  first  to  their  entertain- 
ments as  an  honored  guest,  he  became  possessed  with  a  burn- 
ing desire  to  equal,  if  not  to  excel,  them,  and  the  solid  com- 
forts of  home  were  totally  overlooked.  He  took  a  fine  house 
in  a  fashionable  part  of  the  city,  furnished  it  in  the  most  ele- 
gant style,  and  began  to  cultivate  the  acquaintance  of  the  rich 
and  great.  His  business  flourished,  and  it  is  not  improbable 
that  he  might  have  succeeded  had  he  been  possessed  of  mode- 
rate views,  but  the  dazzle  and  glitter  of  fashionable  life  had 
totally  altered  his  nature.  For  awhile  he  stemmed  the  cur- 
rent. But  hard  times  came — his  own  means  were  totally 
exhausted,  and  he  failed.  With  him  to  fail  was  to  be  ruined, 
for  Lyle  was  not  a  financier,  and  he  was,  besides,  too  honest 
to  defraud  his  creditors  of  a  single  penny.  He  waited  upon 
Benedick  on  the  day  the  mortgage  fell  due,  and  then  for  the 
first  time  he  learned  how  completely  man  is  the  creature  of 
circumstances.  Pryce  was  no  longer  the  friend  of  other 
days.  Times  were  hard  upon  him,  too,  he  said  ;  things  were 
getting  dearer  every  day,  and  his  own  family  needed  looking 
after ; — in  short,  he  was  sorry,  he  was  very  sorry,  but,  he  could 


42  VIOLET,   THE    CHILD    OP    THE    CITr. 

not,  he  did  not  see  how  he  could  consistently,  renew  the 
mortgage.  Lyle,  therefore,  retired  with  reluctance  from  his 
handsome  mansion,  and  took  lodgings  suited  to  his  changed 
circumstances.  His  wife  found  something  to  do  in  the  way 
of  sewing ;  their  boy,  Harry,  now  getting  to  he  quite  a  lad, 
went  to  sea  before  the  mast  (all  his  prospects  of  becoming  a 
prince,  or,  what  is  the  same  to  us,  a  millionaire,  completely 
knocked  in  the  head,  as  far  as  his  father  was  concerned),  and 
Lyle  took  a  situation  as  journeyman  carpenter — the  only 
employment  he  could  find,  and  the  only  avocation,  except 
farming,  with  which  he  was  at  all  acquainted.  Violet,  the 
pride  of  himself  and  his  wife,  as  Harry  was  their  hope,  was 
all  that  remained  to  remind  them  of  the  happy  hours  that 
had  vanished. 

It  were  needless  to  recount  with  detail  how  the  fortunes  of 
that  little  family  fluctuated.  How  industriously  Mrs.  Lyle 
worked  to  do  her  part  in  maintaining  her  child  and  husband, 
until  her  sight  began  to  fail,  and  grey  hairs  began  to  mingle 
with  her  once  raven  tresses.  How  the  little  Violet  grew  in 
size  and  comeliness,  and  how  anxiously  they  brooded  over  the 
tender  child,  who,  sickly  from  her  cradle,  was  now  their  all 
in  all.  Lyle's  discouragements  began  to  operate  upon  his 
health — a  conflagration  deprived  them  one  day  of  what  little 
they  had  saved  from  the  wreck  of  their  fortunes ;  and,  to 
crown  all,  news  came  to  them  that  their  son  had  been  lost  at  sea. 

Lyle  never  recovered  after  this.  He  took  to  dissipated 
habits,  went  on  from  bad  to  worse;  and,  finally,  brought  up 
where  we  have  found  him. 


THE    RESULT    OF    A.    FALSE    STEP.  43 

The  chamber  of  death  is  invested  with  an  awful  quietude  which 
none  but  the  most  reckless  or  most  unprincipled  dare  invade, 
and  for  a  brief  interval  the  sanctity  of  the  place  is  regarded. 

For  more  than  an  hour  Walter  Lyle  remained  in  the  atti- 
tude in  which  we  have  seen  him — his  burning  forehead  buried 
in  his  attenuated  hands,  and  a  fever  in  his  heart  which  no 
medicine  of  human  devising  might  allay.  He  was  awakened 
at  length  from  his  stupor  by  the  girl,  who  had  hitherto 
respected  his  grief  too  much  to  attempt  to  disturb  it. 

"Look  up,  father,"  she  said;  "what  does  this  mean? 
There  are  dark-looking  men  in  the  room,  and  the  passage  is 
full  of  them." 

Lyle  looked  up  then  for  the  first  time  since  his  wife  had 
left  him,  and  he  comprehended  but  too  readily  the  meaning 
of  the  intrusion.  A  man  of  middle  age,  with  a  round,  coarse 
face,  thickly  covered  with  blotches,  and  attired  in  a  flashy 
style,  which  marked  him  for  a  person  of  some  importance" 
in  the  neighborhood,  approached  him  as  soon  as  he  gave  an 
indication  of  returning  consciousness,  and  addressed  him  in  a 
manner  of  which  no  better  could  be  said  than  that  it  was  in 
keeping  with  his  dress.  He  was  well-provided  with  the  usual 
assortment  of  imitation  jewelry,  and  he  carried  in  his  mouth  a 
lighted  pipe — his  custom  whenever  he  visited  his  tenants  in 
person,  lest  he  might  fall  a  victim  to  the  contagion  which 
every  year  hurried  so  many  of  them  to  the  Potter's  Field. 

"  I  say,  neighbor,"  he  exclaimed,  when  Lyle  appeared  in  a 
fit  condition  to  listen  to  him,  "  you  appear  to  be  in  bad  luck, 
just  now,  and,  as  a  man  and  a  brother,  I  feel  sorry  for  you. 


44  VIOLET,   THE    CHILD    OP    THE    CITY. 

It's  only  natural  to  do  so ;  but  then  it's  likewise  natural  that 
I  should  want  to  know  who  my  tenants  are,  and  what  their 
means  are  of  paying  me,  before  I  allow  them  to  take  pos- 
session of  my  premises." 

"  That's  all  very  reasonable,"  responded  Lyle,  "  but,  surely, 
you  might  have  chosen  another  time  to  tell  me  this." 

"  That's  your  opinion,"  retorted  the  landlord,  whose 
name  was  Flint,  in  his  most  insulting  manner  ;  "  but  it  isn't 
mine.  You  see,  neighbor,  the  case  is  just  this :  I  go  and  make 
a  little  money,  and  put  it  into  a  house  and  lot,  and  spend 
more  money  in  repairs  on  it,  and  let  it  out  to  lodgers. 
Besides  all  that,  the  expense  of  repairin'  it  ain't  no  trifle,  and 
•when  hardly  a  one  of  my  lodgers  but  falls  sick  before  he's 
been  here  a  fortnight,  and  leaves  his  precious  carcass  for  me 
to  look  after  (they're  all  the  time  a  falling  sick,  notwithstand- 
ing I  keep  a  licker  bar  and  a  restorant  to  accommodate  'em), 
you'll  acknowledge,  that  to  board  and  lodge  'em  for  nothin' 
is  more  than  can  reasonably  be  expected  of  human  nature. 
So,  I  thought  as  I  was  in  the  vicinity  I'd  just  drop  up  and 
let  you  know  my  sentiments :  that's  the  long  and  short  of  it." 

"  Why  trouble  yourself  to  inform  me  of  that  with  which 
I  was  already  acquainted  ?"  replied  Lyle,  whose  indignation 
rendered  it  impossible  for  him  to  treat  the  man  civilly. 

4<  Hooray !  here's  independence  for  you !"  said  Flint,  appeal- 
ing to  his  friends,  in  a  manner  intended  to  be  sarcastic. 
"  Maybe  he  thinks  its  the  Fourth  o'  July,  and  not  Christmas. 
Perhaps,  sir,"  he  added,  turning  rather  fiercely  upon  his  ten- 
ant— "  perhaps,  sir,  you'll  be  so  goodyas  to  pay  what  you  owe 


THE    RESULT    Of    A    FALSE    STEP.  45 

me,  or  let  me  know  when  I  can  have  these  apartments.  I 
know  a  poor  but  respectable  family  that  wants  them  as  soon 
as  you  leave." 

"  I  have  no  money,  and  I  confess  that  I  have  done  you 
wrong  in  occupying  your  premises  without  the  means  of  pay- 
ing for  them,"  answered  Lyle,  dejectedly.  "But  what  could 
I  do  ?  My  wife  was  ill — dying  in  the  street  as  I  almost 
thought,  and  my  own  failing  strength  debarred  all  hope  of 
employment.  My  poor  child,  too,  was  perishing  from  the 
cold,  and" — 

"  And  so  you  come  in  here  at  a  venture,  I  suppose.  I've 
no  doubt  you  thought  this  port  as  good  as  any  other  in  a 
storm.  Of  course,  you  never  heard  of  such  a  place  as  the 
Alms  House  ?"  / 

"  The  Alms  House !"  echoed  Lyle,  with  a  shudder,  which 
showed  plainly  in  what  light  he  regarded  it.  ' 

"Yes — just  that;  the  Alms  House.  And  a  mighty  com- 
fortable place  it  is,  too,  I  can  tell  you ;  with  ten  governors  to 
look  after  and  provide  for  it,  and  nothing  to  pay  for  your 
vittels,  let  alone  the  lodging.  Then,  look  at  the  air,  too,  and 
the  company — and  the — the — all  those  sort  of  things,  you 
know,  almost  as  good  as  you'd  get  here  by  payin'  for  them." 

"  No,  no — the  Alms  House — the  Alms  House  is  the  last 
resort,"  muttered  Lyle,  scarcely  conscious  that  others  heard 
him.  "  When  my  poor  mother  used  to  hold  that  up  to  me  as 
a  thing  to  be  avoided,  little  did  I  think  that  I  should  ever  be 
in  a  condition  to  need  its  mercies.  But  I  will  not  fall  into 
the  common  error  by  reproaching  Providence  for  troubles  of 


46  VIOLET,   THE     CHILD     OF    THE    CITY. 

my  own  creating.  I  have  erred,  and  I  am  justly  punished. 
Oh  !  that  fatal  mistake  !" 

"Come,"  said  Flint,  impatiently;  "what's  all  this  you're 
mumbling  about  Providence  and  troubles  ?  I've  got  nothing 
to  do  with  Providence  or  your  troubles.  If  you're  too  poor 
to  live  without  labor,  work  ;  if  you're  too  sick  to  work,  beg  ; 
if  you're  too  proud  to  beg — hum !  you  know  what  I  mean." 

"  Steal,  I  suppose,  you  would  say.  But  I  am  not  quite  so  far 
gone  as  that.  There  is  yet  one  resource  left  me  before  that." 

"  You  know  your  own  affairs  best,"  replied  Flint.  "  But  I 
can't  wait  any  longer.  I  left  a  quiet  party  o'  friends  at  cards, 
and  I  can't  afford  to  throw  good  pennies  after  bad,  you 
know.  My  man,  Job,  there,  will  attend  to  your  little  busi- 
ness. As  for  me,  I  only  came  to  give  you  a  little  piece  of 
my  sentiments,  and  so— good  bye,  Mister — Mister  What's- 
your-name  !" 

And,  amid  the  merriment  occasioned  by  this  last  sally,  Mr. 
Flint  madesLyle  a  mock  obeisance,  and  left  him  to  the  com- 
pany of  his  dead  wife  and  Job,  the  Five  Points'  collector. 

It  is  five  of  the  clock  on  Christmas  morning,  and  everything 
even  at  that  early  hour  wears  a  look  of  jollity  and  comfort 
The  groceries  are  already  open,  and  busy  clerks  are  covering 
every  visible  portion  of  their  door  fronts  with  greens  and  house- 
hold necessities  of  every  description.  In  like  manner  the 
butchers'  shops  are  decorated  with  their  choicest  store  of  fowl 
and  flesh,  tricked  off  with  bright-hued  ribbons  and  paper 
flowers.  The  variety  stores  are  being  swept  with  a  view 
to  a  good  day's  business.  The  taverns  aro  among  the  first  to 


THE    RESTTLT    07    A    FALSE    STEP.  47 

open ;  nay,  many  of  them  have  been  open  through  the  night, 
and  more  than  one  ruby  nose  is  seen  issuing,  like  its  prototype 
the  sun,  from  those  portals  of  iniquity. 

A  tall  gaunt  figure  stops  at  the  corner  of  Orange  and  Cross 
streets,  holding  by  the  hand  a  trembling  child  (trouble  has  in- 
vested Violet  -with  the  fortitude  of  her  elders,  and  she  does  not 
cry).  For  a  moment  he  gazes  up  and  down  the  long  streets 
with  an  uncertainty  that  would  seem  to  denote  that  he  is  not 
quite  settled  in  his  mind,  and  then,  drawing  the  girl  closer  to 
him,  he  totters  on  in  his  misery. 

Only  a  solitary  being  out  of  all  the  number  who  have  passed 
him  in  their  holiday  attire,  bent  upon  making  the  most  of  the 
day,  has  deigned  to  notice  him.  It  is  a  policeman.  He  crosses 
the  street  from  his  post  to  where  Lyle  is  standing,  and  exclaims : 

"  Holloa  !  where  now,  old  one  3" 

"  To  the  grave  1"  replies  Lyle,  in  hollow  accents. 

"  I  wish  you  a  pleasant  journey  there !"  rejoins  the  Star, 
and  perching  himself  on  a  hydrant,  he  becomes  absorbed  in 
the  columns  of  the  Police  Investigator — forgetful  that  such 
people  as  Lyle  are  even  in  existence. 


48  VIOLET,   THE    CHILD    OF    THE     CITT. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

REPUBLICAN    SIMPLICITY. 

IF  life  has  its  thorns,  it  has  its  flowers  also,  and  as  a  rose-bush 
is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  objects  in  nature,  when  viewed  at  a 
distance,  while  it  is  likewise  one  of  the  most  dangerous  to 
come  in  contact  with,  so  fashionable  life,  while  concealing 
within  itself  an  antidote  to  the  peace  and  happiness  of  all  who 
enter  its  charmed  circle,  presents,  nevertheless,  to  the  inexperi- 
enced, a  group  of  fascinations  glossed  over  with  a  supernatu- 
ral coloring,  that  invests  it  with  an  attraction  which  few 
have  the  strength  of  mind  to  resist.  There  is  some- 
thing in  it  which  recalls  very  forcibly  a  well-known  Italian 
story  (of  course,  one  of  the  Gesta  jRomanorvm,)  in  which  a 
young  devotee  of  fashion  pursues  for  years  with  his  attentions 
a  lady  possessed,  to  all  appearance,  of  every  personal  attraction. 
In  figure,  complexion,  and  grace  she  is  unexceptionable. 
There  is  but  one  drawback :  the  lady  wears  continually  an 
impervious  mask  (it  will  be  remembered  that  we  are  treating  of 
another  age  and  clime,  for  no  one  in  our  society  presumes  to 
•wear  a  mask).  To  induce  her  to  remove  this  hateful  disguise 
is  the  lover's  constant  aim,  but  all  his  most  urgent  entreaties, 
devices  and  stratagems  are  unsuccessful,  until,  after  ruining 


REPUBLICAN    SIMPLICITY.  49 

health  and  fortune  in  the  unavailing  pursuit,  the  poor  youth, 
on  his  dying  bed,  accomplishes  his  wish.  His  inamorata  re- 
moves her  mask,  and  discloses — a  death's  head ! 

After  this  the  young  man  expires,  as  any  one  else  would  do 
under  similar  circumstances.  The  story,  after  all,  like  a  great 
many  others,  is  not  all  a  fiction. 

The  fine  mansion  to  which  Mr.  Pryce  Benedick  betook  him- 
self, after  escaping  from  the  unpleasant  dilemma  previously 
noticed,  offered  a  striking  contrast  to  the  miserable  rookery 
from  which  we  have  recently  seen  his  old  acquaintance — the 
sworn  friend  of  his  boyhood — ignominiously  expelled.  Lyle,  in 
surrendering  a  home  where  he  was  surrounded  by  every  com- 
fort, and  by  those  endearing  recollections  which  to  the  honest 
man  are  far  more  valuable  than  the  weightiest  money-bags  of 
any  one  of  our  merchant-princes,  had  committed  the  only  fatal 
error  of  his  life.  Lacking  the  tact,  and  we  may  add,  the  self- 
ishness of  his  more  fortunate  fellows,  he  was  soon  involved  in 
irretrievable  ruin,  while  Benedick,  by  reason  of  his  worldly 
bringing  up  and  the  possession  of  natural  qualifications  for  a 
business  career,  prospered  even  beyond  his  hopes,  and  was 
soon  enabled  to  live  in  a  style  that  rendered  him  the  envy  and 
the  admiration  of  mary  of  his  wealthiest  compeers,  and  tho 
object  of  secret  detraction  to  not  a  few.  Strange  as  it  may 
appear,  his  speculative  propensities  and  the  desire  for  the  ac- 
cumulation of  additional  riches  kept  pace  with  and  even  out- 
ran his  success — so  tha*  even  Mr.  Pryce  Benedick,  with  all 
his  luxury  of  living  and  his  proud  position,  was  not  satis- 
fied. 

3 


60  VIOLET,   THE     CHILD     OF    THE     dTT. 

The  residence  of  Pryce  was  one  of  the  finest  in  the 
city.  It  was,  in  fact,  a  palace.  One  of  the  first  of  foreign 
architects  had  been  employed  in  its  erection,  and  the  work  of 
foreign  artists  was  visible  in  whatever  direction  you  might 
turn  your  eyes.  His  drawing-rooms  were  hung  with  costly 
pictures,  brought  from  abroad,  and  every  apartment  was 
clogged  and  lumbered  by  the  accumulation  of  piled-up 
luxuries  from  every  clime.  To  display  all  these  treasures  to 
the  gaze  of  admiring  friends  was  the  chief  object  in  life  of 
Mrs.  Pryce  Benedick.  For  this  her  pew  in  church  was  the 
handsomest  and  most  conspicuous.  For  this  she  attired  her 
daughters  in  a  manner  that  threw  all  their  rivals  into  a  flutter 
of  jealousy,  but  would  have  incurred  the  unmitigated  ridicule 
of  any  European  drawing-room,  the  manners  of  whose  fre- 
quenters they  flattered  themselves  they  were  imitating. 

What  were  the  true  characters  of  many  of  the  visitors  for 
whose  gratification  all  this  display  was  made  it  were  as  well 
not  to  inquire  too  curiously.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  more  than 
one  foreign  roue  (yes,  and  some  of  home  production  even) 
exiled  by  his  misconduct  from  the  circles  in  which  he  should 
have  moved,  obtained  there  an  easy  entrance  by  the  mere 
possession  of  an  empty  title,  or  a  handful  more  or  less  of  the 
filthy  lucre. 

Hitherto,  Pryce  had  given  all  his  thoughts  and  energies 
solely  to  business,  as  became  a  man  of  the  world  and  the 
father  of  an  interesting  family.  Now,  however,  his  attention 
begins  to  be  about  equally  divided  between  his  worldly 
pursuits  and  his  eldest  daughter,  Julia,  just  arriving  at  a 


REPUBLICAN    SIMPLICITY.  51 

marriageable  age,  and  ready  to  be  put  up  for  sale,  in  com- 
pliance with  modern  usage,  to  the  highest  bidder. 

In  one  of  those  agreeable  and  quiet  thoroughfares  in  the 
upper  part  of  the  city,  not  far  removed  from  Broadway,  and  in 
the  immediate  vicinity  of  that  fashionable  summer  promenade 
yclept  Union  Square,  stood,  and,  for  aught  we  know  to  the 
contrary,  still  stands  a  row  of  elegant  dwellings,  the  mere 
appearance  of  which  suggested  to  the  mind  of  the  observer 
ideas  of  wealth  and  splendor  without  limit.  It  is  to  one  of 
these  dwellings  that  we  would  draw  the  attention  of  the 
reader.  Look  within,  and  you  will  find  it  elegantly  furnished 
with  sofas,  divans,  ottomans,  and  all  that  the  upholsterer's  art 
can  do  to  make  it  vie  with  others  in  the  gorgeousness  of  its 
interior  attractions.  Rich  Turkey  carpets  invite  the  tread, 
and  articles  of  vertu  and  bijouterie  adorn  the  mantels.  It  is 
evidently  the  residence  of  one  of  those  merchant  princes 
whose  enterprise  and  energy  have  made  New  York  the  city 
that  she  is.  In  fact,  it  is  the  residence  of  Mr.  Pryce 

Benedick. 

t 

And  no  one  is  more  wide  awake  to  the  fact  of  his  own 
importance,  as  well  as  that  of  the  class  to  which  he  belongs, 
than  Benedick,  himself — whose  ships,  at  the  moment  of  which 
we  write,  are  circumnavigating  half  the  globe,  and  whose 
wealth  is  reported  to  be  without  limit.  In  person,  Mr. 
Benedick  is  tall,  rather  inclining  to  the  corpulent,  and  straight 
as  a  poker.  His  face  is  smooth,  round,  and  without  a 
wrinkle — telling  of  good  living,  and  the  absence  of  those 
petty  cares  that  will  step  in  to  disturb  the  minds  of  the  com- 


52  VIOLET,   THE    CHILD    OF    THE    <JITT. 

monest  of  people.  He  is  dignified — but  that  is  due  to  his 
•wealth ;  he  is  exclusive — but  nothing  less  could  be  expected 
of  one  moving  in  such  circles  as  those  in  which  he  moves. 
He  also  prides  himself  upon  his  honesty ;  and  no  bill  is  pre- 
sented a  second  time  for  payment  at  his  counting-house. 

Benedick's  family  consisted  of  himself  and  wife,  a  son  just 
arrived  at  the  very  old  age  of  twenty,  and  two  accomplished 
daughters,  Julia  and  Helen — one  of  whom  was  now  about  to 
enter  upon  the  pleasures  and  duties  of  womanhood,  while  the 
other  was  but  just  emerging  from  her  teens. 

Mr.  Maximus  Benedick  (or  Maximus  Benedick,  Esq., 
as  his  friends  in  the  superscriptions  of  their  notes  are  in  the 
habit  of  styling  him),  although  by  no  means  the  possessor  of 
talents  to  distinguish  him  from  any  ordinary  individual,  is  yet 
sufficiently  a  character  to  sit  for  his  portrait.  Notwithstand- 
ing he  had  but  just  emerged  from  his  teens,  as  we  have  said, 
Max  was  already  thoroughly  posted  up  with  regard  to  the 
superficial  life  of  the  great  emporium.  Of  the  inner  life  of 
things,  and  of  the  various  emotions  which  entered  into  the 
composition  of  his  fellow-beings,  he  had  not  the  remotest 
conception.  Having  l>een  brought  up  in  the  full  conscious- 
ness of  his  family's  importance,  and  early  initiated  into  the 
airs  and  graces  of  fashionable  life,  Max  conceived  his  taste  for 
everything  savoring  of  idleness  or  pleasure,  and  his  disgust  for 
the  ordinary  pursuits  of  the  world  at  one  and  the  same 
moment.  In  the  eyes  of  his  casual  acquaintance,  he  was  a 
pattern  young  man.  His  clothes  sat  upon  his  delicate  little 
figure  as  if  some  poor  artist  had  devoted  his  life  to  their 


REPUBLICAN     SIMPLICITY.  63 

perfection.  Lemon-colored  kid  gloves — No.  6 — encased  his 
"  pooty "  hands ;  little  boots  of  soft  morocco  enveloped  his 
feet ;  a  little  watch-chain  dangled  from  his  vest ;  a  pair  of 
little  pantaloons,  so  tight  that  they  imparted  to  his  legs  an 
appearance  of  being  "  straight  all  the  way  down,"  and  glow- 
ing with  all  the  colors  of  a  lady's  shawl,  adorned  his  nether 
man.  But  his  coat  was  large  enough  for  two  of  his  size,  and 
his  hat  seemed  tumbling  over  on  one  side  from  its  exceeding 
height  and  heaviness.  Below,  he  was  the  counterpart  of  a 
spider  seen  through  a  microscope.  Above,  he  was  like  the 
famous  ichthyosaurus,  all  shoulders. 

In  his  daily  intercourse  with  the  crowd  he  was  reserved 
even  to  haughtiness.  No  greater  number  of  words,  in  fact, 
at  any  time  escaped  him  than  was  absolutely  necessary  to 
denote  his  personal  wants.  He  never  appeared  astonished 
at  anything,  never  seemed  to  have  felt  a  regard  for  anybody, 
and  never  expressed  an  admiration  for  any  object — to  do  so 
being  considered  a  mark  of  ill-breeding.  A  superb  picture  or 
a  rich  landscape  never  called  from  him  any  manifestation  of 
delight.  Only,  he  sometimes  stopped  to  render  homage  to 
a  handsome  countenance.  He  appeared  afraid  that  the 
slightest  exhibition  of  natural  feeling  should  escape  him. 
Selfish  as  a  miser,  and  destitute  of  vitality  as  a  stone,  he  had, 
of  course,  no  friends.  Sensuality  was  his  presiding  genius, 
and  money  the  welcome  means  for  its  gratification. 

Of  his  dissipation,  his  over-indulgence  in  wine,  his  late 
hours,  his  rage  for  fast  horses  and  fine  clothes,  and  his  eager 
pursuit — in  a  genteel  way — of  a  hundred  sports  and  pleasures 


64  VIOLET,    THB    CHILD    OP    THE     CITT. 

•which,  in  any  but  the  son  of  the  man  of  wealth,  would  be 
regarded  as  sending  him  straight  to  perdition,  we  will  not 
particularly  speak.  The  reader  has  already  more  than  one 
Maximus  Benedick  in  his  eye,  and  one  of  the  number  will 
serve  as  a  portrait  for  the  rest. 

A  lovely  neice,  the  daughter  of  a  deceased  brother,  who 
had  left  her  to  the  care  of  Pryce  (so  he  gave  out)  as  the  only 
legacy  in  his  power  to  bestow — a  favor  of  which  the  recipient 
did  not,  by  the  way,  seem  to  be  remarkably  proud — made  up 
the  little  circle ;  but  she,  like  most  poor  relations,  was  so  little 
mentioned,  that  few  save  their  most  intimate  friends  ever 
dreamed  of  her  existence. 


STARTING     IK    LIFE.  05 


CHAPTER  VIIL 

STARTING     IN     LIFE. 

MRS.  B.  is  a  counterpart  of  her  husband.  Although  she 
came  of  no  very  wealthy  family  herself — her  father  having 
been  originally  a  grocer  in  a  modest  way — (but  tell  it  not  in 
Gath !) — she  has  a  proper  idea  of  her  lord's  position  ;  and,  if 
she  is  more  proud,  more  vain,  and  more  extravagant  than  he, 
it  is  only  for  the  sake  of  keeping  up  the  credit  of  the  family. 
Happy  are  they  who  may  obtain  an  invitation  to  Mrs.  Bene- 
dick's reunions — as  she  politely  styles  them ;  thrice  happy 
they  who  may  share  for  a  single  night  her  box  at  the  opera — 
of  which  Mistress  Benedick  is  a  patron. 

Up  to  the  time  of  their  introduction  to  the  reader,  however, 
the  life  of  the  Benedicks  had  been,  comparatively  speaking, 
little  else  than  a  blank  ;  yet,  not  a  blank,  either,  if  a  constant 
succession  of  soirees  and  other  like  fashionable  dissipations 
may  be  called  anything.  But  the  time  had  now  arrived  when 
the  head  of  the  family  had  decided,  in  the  pride  of  his  heart 
and  the  fullness  of  his  pockets,  that  his  daughter — heiress  to 
his  affections  and  his  wealth — should  make  her  first  curt'sy  to 
the  fashionable  world,  of  which  it  was  his  intention  that  she 
should  form  a  part. 

Everything  in  the  family  mansion,  movable  or  immovable, 


60  VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     OF    THE     CITT. 

had  been  submitted  to  a  thorough  overhauling ;  the  chairs, 
divans,  etc.,  had  been  revarnished  and  revamped — new  carpets 
laid  in  place  of  the  old  ones,  from  which  the  pristine  gloss 
had  scarce  been  worn ;  the  panelings  of  the  halls  and  parlors 
were  repainted — the  upholsterer  once  more  set  at  work  ;  even 
the  silver  door-plate,  bearing  the  aristocratic  dissyllable,  Bene- 
dick, had  been  so  diligently  varnished,  that  one  might  see 
every  lineament  as  in  a  mirror.  For  a  whole  week  preceding 
the  momentous  occasion,  servants  were  seen  continually  issu- 
ing from  the  dwelling  with  packages  of  cards  and  notes  neatly 
folded — the  sure  precursors  of  some  great  event.  A  smile 
was  seen  to  loom  upon  the  face  of  the  gratified  merchant ;  and 
he  even  so  far  forgot  himself,  upon  one  occasion,  as  to  bow  to 
an  old  friend  in  slender  circumstances,  whom,  for  years  past,  he 
had  made  it  his  habit  to  give  the  "go-by"  in  the  street. 

At  last,  the  day,  big  with  fate,  arrives ;  a  carriage  trundles 
up  to  the  door  of  the  family  mansion,  and  a  slender,  but  ele- 
gant female  figure,  closely  veiled,  springs  lightly  from  the 
vehicle,  followed  by  a  poodle,  and  a  servant-maid  with  a  sleepy 
look,  and  an  exceedingly  slouchy  bonnet.  The  veiled  figure 
has  embraced,  in  succession,  "  pa,"  and  "  ma,"  and  a  host  of 
anxious  relatives,  married  and  unmarried,  who  have  gathered 
in  the  portico  to  receive  the  long  expected  one;  then  com- 
mences the  work  of  disgorging ;  and,  straightway,  as  if  by 
magic,  the  vehicle  is  made  to  give  up  baskets,  bundles,  boxes, 
and  packages — several  trunks,  and  an  assortment  of  band-boxes, 
most  of  them  in  a  hopeless  condition  from  the  pressure.  And 
then,  when  the  hack  has  rolled  away,  and  the  doors  are  closed. 


STARTING     IN     LIFE.  57 

how  noisy  the  family  group  that  has  gathered  within.  The 
parlors  swarm  with  friends  and  relatives.  Released  from  the 
durance  vile  entailed  upon  her  by  a  clumsy  country  bonnet,  and 
clothes  to  match,  the  heiress  stands  forth  in  all  the  freshness  of 
her  girlish  beauty,  and  modestly  receives  the  congratulations 
that  are  poured  in  upon  her  from  all  quarters. 

Julia  is  a  tall,  dark-eyed  girl,  of  scarce  sixteen,  with  a  little 
awkwardness  in  her  gestures  and  bearing — such  as  might  be 
expected  in  a  young  lady  fresh  from  the  restraints  and  petty 
formalities  of  a  boarding-school.  Nevertheless,  she  is  beautiful ; 
and  as  she  stands  by  the  crackling  fire — for  it  is  November, 
and  the  season  is  growing  cold — she  will  compare  well  with 
any  of  her  sex  within  the  crowded  room. 

Now,  if,  at  this  juncture,  the  young  lady  could  have  been 
left  a  little  to  the  guidance  of  Dame  Nature,  although  half- 
spoiled  by  the  petty  artificialities  of  a  modern  fashionable 
boarding-school,  she  might  have  turned  out  an  intellectual, 
high-minded,  gifted  woman.  As  it  was,  even  her  gay  and 
careless  disposition  rendered  her  a  rather  difficult  subject  for  a 
proud  father  to  operate  upon  ;  for,  judging  by  Julia's  ardent 
and  impetuous  manner,  fashion  will  have  but  little  chance  of 
binding  her  artless  mind  in  his  deceptive  fetters.  But  the 
material  is  fresh  and  susceptible  of  change ;  and  who  knows 
•what  a  few  months  may  accomplish  ? 

Julia's  tongue  has  been  on  the  go  ever  since  she  entered  the 
room,  and  it  is  many  minutes  ere  she  has  recognised  a 
childish  form,  that  stands  in  a  corner  by  herself,  neglected 
and  seemingly  ready  to  break  into  tears  at  the  oversight. 

3* 


68  VIOLET,    TH.B     CHILD     OF     THE     CUT. 

But  her  eyes  have  reached  that  dark  corner,  and  in  a  moment 
it  is  no  longer  dark. 

"  Why,  Alice,  ma  belle  cousine — my  pretty  pet,"  exclaims 
Julia,  running  to  the  dark  corner ;  and  in  an  instant  she  has 
caught  in  her  arms  the  figure  of  the  neglected  girl — of 
whose  existence,  but  a  few  seconds  previously,  no  one  amid 
that  swarm  of  human  beings  seemed  aware. 

Notwithstanding  the  frowns  of  her  father,  and  a  whispered 
remonstrance  from  the  mother,  Julia  draws  the  trembling, 
downcast  Alice  from  her  retirement ;  and  in  a  few  minutes 
the  two  are  deeply  engaged  in  a  rehearsal  of  their  mutual 
pleasures  and  sorrowings,  in  an  opposite  corner. 

"  The  dear  girl !"  exclaims  a  foppishly-dressed  individual, 
*  who  seems  made  of  essences,  and  who,  from  his  familiarity, 
is  evidently  one  of  the  family — "  she  is  all  soul — nothing  sel- 
fish about  her — not  a  particle  !" 

"  Pray,  who  may  the  young  lady  be  with  whom  she  seems 
on  such  intimate  terms  ?"  asked  a  guest — a  partial  stranger  to 
the  family. 

"  Oh,  she's  nobody — nobody  of  consequence ;  a  distant 
relation,  dependent,  or  something  of  that  sort,"  is  the  reply 
of  the  finikin  gentleman;  and  this  is  all  that  is  said  with 
regard  to  her. 

"  Hang  it,  Jule  !"  whispered  her  brother,  sotto  voce,  as  he 
sauntered  slowly  by  her  for  the  purpose  of  performing  what 
he  considered  a  brotherly  act — "  don't  make  so  much  of  little 
Alice.  Everybody  is  looking  at  you." 

"  Well,  and  what  of  that  ?"  asked  Julia,  at  first  not  under- 


STARTING     IK     LIFE.  69 

standing  him  ;  for  Alice  and  she  had  been  brought  up  as 
children  together. 

"  Why,  privately,  it  does  no  harm,"  he  replied ;  "  but  in 
public,  you  see,  it's  a  different  sort  of  thing.  Our  positions 
are  different,  you  know,  and — a — you  understand." 

She  does  understand,  and  a  deep  blush  mantles  upon  her 
countenance,  as  she  finds  herself  yielding  to  a  feeling  of 
shame  on  account  of  her  friendless  cousin. 

It  will  not  add  much  to  the  reader's  knowledge  to  dwell 
materially  upon  the  festivities  of  that  particular  night,  nor  to 
chronicle  the  thousand  and  one  silly  and  absurd  things  that 
were  said  and  done  upon  the  happy  occasion.  We  will  not 
detail  how  the  finikin  gentleman  aforesaid  made  a  fool  of 
himself,  by  toasting  some  fifty  times  the  health  of  the  heiress 
— nor  how  one  Major  Dabster,  U.  S.  A.,  with  fiery  whiskers 
and  a  very  military  air,  before  the  night  had  passed,  became 
so  oblivious  as  to  mistake  the  occasion  for  a  wedding,  and  to 
offer  his  congratulations  to  the  astonished  Julia,  whom  he 
insisted  upon  saluting  as  the  bride.  Suffice  it,  that,  with 
these  trivial  exceptions,  everything  passed  off  as  comfortably 
as  could  be  desired,  and  when  Julia  went  to  rest  that  night, 
it  was  to  dream  of  conquests  and  a  life  of  fashion  and  excite- 
ment. 

The  maternal  voice  was  heard  at  an  early  hour  in  the 
ensuing  morning,  summoning  Julia  to  make  her  toilet  and 
hasten  down.  On  descending  to  the  drawing-room,  she 
found  her  father  and  mother  waiting  to  receive  her.  Mr. 
Benedick  was  standing  in  his  favorite  posture  in  front  of  the 


VIOLET,    TIIS     CHILD     OF    TIIE     CITT. 

grate,  with  one  hand  half-concealed  in  the  skirts  of  his  coat, 
the  other  fumbling  and  playing  with  his  watch-seals,  as  if  he 

was  perfectly  aware  of  the  importance  of  his  position,  and 

* 
saw  nothing  uncommon  in  it. 

The  parental  salutation  being  over,  Julia  was  admonished 
that  her  mother  had  something  important  to  communicate. 

"  Dear  me,  so  early,  too !"  exclaimed  Julia,  playfully ;  ''  it 
must  indeed  be  important,  then.  But  I  am  all  attention." 

"I  will  not  allude  particularly,"  began  the  mother,  "to 
your  conduct  in  connection  with  that  child  Alice,  my  Julia ; 
for,  not  having  seen  one  another  since  you  were  children,  the 
'result  was  perfectly  natural.  But  you  must  remember,  my 
Julia,  that  to-day  is  the  commencement  of  a  new  era  in  your 
life ;  and  I  trust,"  she  added,  with  dignity,  "  in  the  affairs  of 
the  family,  also.  For  you  now  have  to  make  your  debut 
upon  the  stage  of  fashionable  existence,  and  it  is  proper  that, 
hereafter,  you  should  conduct  yourself  in  a  manner  becoming 
the  heiress  of  a  house  like  ours." 

"  But,  dear  mamma,  what  has  all  this  to  do  with  cousin 
Alice  ?"  retorted  Julia,  wonderingly. 

"  Alice,  my  Julia,  is  a  very  interesting  girl  in  her  peculiar 
sphere,  but  she  is  not  one  of  us.  In  plain  terms,  she  is  unfit- 
ted, both  by  birth  and  education,  to  associate  with  such  as 
yourself,  and  it  is  henceforth  our  desire  that  you  should  treat 
her  with  a  coldness  indicative  of  the  difference  in  your 
respective  stations." 

Here  our  friend  Pryce,  as  if  he  felt  it  incumbent  upon  him- 
self to  say  something,  gave  utterance  to  an  emphatic,  "Ahem !" 


STARTING     IN     LIFE.  61 

Julia  remained  for  some  moments  with  her  eyes  cast  to  tlie 
floor,  in  a  brown  study,  while  her  excellent  mother,  following 
up  what  she  conceived  to  be  her  first  success,  continued  : 

"  There  are  other  things,  too,  my  Julia,  which  I  would 
impress  upon  your  mind,  in  connection  with  this  subject.  It 
is  time,  Julia,  that  you  became  aware  of  the  fact — if,  indeed, 
you  do  not  already  know  it — that  there  is  a  vast  difference 
between  rich  and  poor  people.  Moving  in  such  circles  as  we 
do,  it  would  hardly  seem  proper  in  us  to  encourage  the 
advances  of  the  commoner  sort ;  and,  therefore,  when  some 
poor  acquaintances,  whom  you  have  met  at  school  or  else- 
where, endeavor  to  claim  your  attention,  forget  that  you 
have  seen  them — in  fact,  my  dear,  you  must  not  notice 
them.  They  are  so  much  canaille,  and  every  word  exchanged 
with  them  is  an  infringement  of  our  dignity." 

"  Ahem  !"  quoth  Pryce,  again. 

"  You  will  seek  in  future,  my  Julia,  the  society  of  people 
at  least  on  a  par  with  us,  in  appearance  and  station ;  and, 
above  all,  do  not  allow  yourself  to  be  surpassed  in  the  details 
of  fashion ;  for  how  are  we  to  impress  people  with  an  idea 
of  our  importance,  if  we  do  not  dress  to  match  ?" 

To  all  these  arguments,  and  many  more  in  the  same  vein, 
Julia  seemed  to  accord  a  willing  assent,  secretly  determining, 
however,  to  have  her  own  way. 

After  breakfast  concluded,  she  found  an  opportunity  of 
bringing  Alice  to  her  side,  and  warning  her  not  to  be  asto- 
nished at  any  seeming  coldness  which  might  be  visible  there- 
after on  her  part,  and  giving  her  also  her  reasons  therefor. 


62  VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     OF    THB     CITY. 

Alice,  -who  was  younger  by  several  years  than  Julia,  could 
not  exactly  comprehend  the  necessity  for  such  double  dealing ; 
but,  nevertheless,  she  timidly  acquiesced  in  everything 
advanced  by  her  elegant  cousin,  thinking  that  it  must  all 
come  right  in  the  end. 

Julia's  honest  purpose,  however,  grew  fainter  and  fainter, 
as  each  succeeding  day  brought  fresh  inducements  in  favor  of 
her  mother's  arguments.  Involved  in  a  series  of  fashionable 
entertainments — surrounded  by  that  heartless  crowd,  of  which 
the  peculiar  circle  in  which  her  parents  moved  was  com- 
posed, and  with  flatteries  constantly  resounding  in  her  ears— 
what  wonder  that  she  soon  lost  sight  of  her  amiable  resolu- 
tions ?  A  few  brief  months,  in  fact,  wrought  a  tremendous 
change  in  the  heiress.  Poor  cousin  Alice  grew  to  be  totally 
neglected,  and  pined  her  life  away  in  her  lone  hours,  without 
a  friend  in  whose  ear  she  might  pour  her  innocent  com- 
plaints. 


THB    CONTRAST.  63 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE    CONTRAST. 

A  FEW  nights  after  the  important  occurrence  just  narrated, 
Mr.  Benedick  sat  in  his  well -furnished  library — which  might 
have  been  newly  stocked  and  painted  yesterday,  it  had  such 
an  air  of  freshness  and  good  order  about  it  A  huge  Boston 
rocker  supported  his  sleek,  well-fed  person,  and  a  great  fire 
blazed  and  crackled  cheerfully  before  him.  The  weather  had 
as  yet  given  no  sign  of  abating  its  rigors,  and  as  he  sat  thus  in 
his  luxurious  study,  with  the  major  part  of  his  family  about 
him,  he  could  not  restrain  a  feeling  of  self-gratulation  that  came 
over  him,  as  his  eye  rested  for  a  moment  upon  those  columns 
of  his  newspaper  in  which  the  sufferings  and  misdoings  of  his 
fellow-mortals  were  so  vividly  depicted. 

We  have  said  columns,  purposely  using  the  plural ;  for  not 
only  are  we  daily  regaled  with  such  an  array  of  forbidding 
topics  as  makes  us  almost  blush  for  our  common  humanity, 
but  a  large  and  closely-printed  weekly,  well  supported  in  our 
midst,  is  found  to  be  hardly  sufficient  to  contain  the  volumin- 
ous calendar  of  our  daily  transgressions. 

"  What  a  set  of  people  there  are  in  the  world,  to  be  sure," 
said  Mr.  Benedick,  musingly.  "  Now  here  are  no  less  than  five 
strikes,  two  murders,  half-a-dozen  robberies,  and  several  flagrant- 


64  VIOLET,     THE    CHILD    OF    THB    CITT. 

cases  of  assault  and  battery,  in  the  same  column  of  today's 
paper,  and  yet  the  times  were  never  more  prosperous.  Money 
is  plenty,  the  brokers  discount  freely,  with  over  two  millions 
in  gold  arriving  by  the  last  steamer,  yet  people  complain. 
Really,  these  mechanics  and  laboring  men  are  insatiable !" 

Poor  laboring  men  !  if  you  saw  your  own  interests  through 
the  right  pair  of  spectacles  it's  little  you  need  care  for  the 
comments  of  such  as  Pryce  Benedick !  When  foreign 
mechanics,  living  at  a  distance  of  thousands  of  miles  from 
yourselves,  are  engaged  at  this  moment  in  manufacturing  the 
innumerable  articles  of  traffic  with  which  your  own  hands 
should  supply  your  countrymen,  while  your  own  wrongheaded 
notions  open  a  gate  through  which  the  same  articles  pass  to 
consumers,  at  rates  which  forbid  the  possibility  of  your  com- 
petition— the  proceeds  reverting  all  the  while  to  the  importer, 
who,  in  his  turn,  sends  abroad  the  money  that  should  replenish 
your  own  empty  pockets — what  better  can  you  expect  than 
poverty  and  want  of  employment  ?  Let  us  take  heed  how  we 
breed  among  ourselves  a  pauper  community  ! 

"  I  wonder  how  you  can  take  an  interest  in  such  canaille, 
remarked  Mrs.  Benedick,  looking  up  from  her  employment 
(she  was  engaged  in  directing  a  number  of  cards  of  invitation 
to  a  forthcoming  party).    "  But  you  are  always  bothering  your 
head  about  the  affairs  of  the  poor  and  needy." 

"  Now,  my  dear,  you  know  I  don't  deserve  that,"  said  Pryce, 
deprecatingly.  "If  I  am  connected  with  several  charitable 
associations,  it's  no  more  than  right  that  I  should  be.  What 
an  amount  of  suffering" — and  here  Pryce  looked  hurriedly 


THE     CONTRAST.  65 

over  his  paper.  "  It's  really  shocking.  Certainly  no  one  can 
accuse  me  of  forgetting  the  position  I  hold  in  society,  but 
when  we  think  of  these  poor  people,  who,  after  all,  are  made 
in  the  same  shape  as  ourselves,  and  the  privations  they  endure, 
and  all  that — we  must  be  charitable." 

Some  noise  without  put  aa  abrupt  termination  to  his 
homily. 

"  What's  that,  Mrs.  B.  1"  he  asked,  with  a  look  of  alarm. 
He  was  just  in  the  midst  of  the  murder  column,  and  the  least 
thing  was  enough  to  upset  his  nerves. 

"  Cats,  I  think,"  replied  his  wife,  unconcernedly. 

"  You  know,  pa,"  said  Julia,  "  they  are  said  sometimes  to 
make  a  noise  closely  assimilated  to  that  of  the  human  voice." 

"  The  assimilation  was  very  remarkable,"  replied  Mr.  Bene- 
dick, after  listening  a  moment  for  a  repetition  of  the  noise. 
u  If  that  wasn't  a  human  voice — " 

A  low  wail  of  distress,  as  if  from  the  voice  of  a  child,  came 
distinctly,  at  this  moment,  into  the  room  where  the  trio  were 
seated. 

For  a  few  minutes  the  three  sat  like  statues  in  the  attitudes 
in  which  they  had  been  interrupted.  The  countenances  of  all 
grew  somewhat  pale,  and  Mr.  Benedick  quivered  like  an  aspen. 

"  Don't  you  think  I'd  better  go  see  what  it  is,  Mrs.  B.  1"  he 
said  finally. 

"  Indeed,  I  don't,"  replied  his  amiable  helpmate.  "  I've  no 
notion  of  being  made  a  widow  for  the  sake  of  others.  You'd 
better  sit  still  where  you  are  and  read  your  journal." 

"I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  Pryce,  still  undecided. 


66  VIOLET,   THE    CHILD    OF   THE    CITT. 

"  It's  not  a  very  pleasant  night  out,  you  know,  and  it's  barely 
possible  that  there  may  be  some  one  in  the  streets  that  has  no 
place  to  go  to." 

"  No  place  to  go  to !"  repeated  Mrs.  Benedick.  "  Why,  isn't 
there  the  Station  Houses,  and  the  Alms  House,  and  I  don't 
know  how  many  other  places  ?  and  besides,  there  are  the  police- 
men." 

Even  Mr.  Benedick  smiled  a  cadaverous  smile  as  this  agree- 
able fiction  occurred  to  his  mind:  for  he  remembered  an 
incident  in  his  own  experience  on  a  certain  occasion  not  long 
past,  and  he  had  come  to  regard  the  arrangements  of  the  city 
for  the  protection  of  the  lives  and  property  of  the  citizens  as  a 
decided  humbug,  which  cost  more  money  to  keep  its  machinery 
going  than  the  results  it  accomplished  were  worth. 

The  noise  which  had  excited  their  alarm,  however,  continu- 
ing, Mr.  Benedick,  who  was  not  destitute  of  natural  feeling, 
got  out  of  his  rocker,  it  must  be  confessed  with  some  reluc- 
tance, and  in  spite  of  the  joint  remonstrances  of  his  wife  and 
daughter,  proceeded  to  the  door.  He  had  no  sooner 
opened  it  than  a  tornado  of  wind  roared  past  him  into  the 
hall,  extinguishing  the  gas,  and  sweeping  through  the  house 
with  a  shout  of  triumph.  Mr.  Benedick  was  firm,  nevertheless. 
He  advanced  boldly  out  into  the  portico,  where  he  stood  for  a 
few  moments  with  the  snow  beating  down  upon  his  half-blinded 
eyes,  and  insinuating  itself  into  his  Indian  slippers.  But  it 
waa  no  go  !  flesh  and  blood  could  not  stand  it — at  least,  his 
kind  of  flesh  and  blood — and,  turning  his  back  upon  the 
enemy,  Pryce  made  a  prudent  retreat  into  the  castle. 


THE     CONTRAST.  67 

As  the  door  closes  upon  the  merchant's  shuffling  feet,  a 
slight,  fragile  figure  steals  noiselessly  from  under  the  project- 
ing steps,  and  peers  intently  out  into  the  darkness.  At  first 
she  observes  nothing,  but  gradually,  as  her  eyes  become  ac- 
customed to  the  gloom,  she  is  conscious  of  something  lying 
upon  the  steps  in  the  deep  snow. 

Good  God!  what  is  this?  can  such  things  occur  in  a 
Christian  land — within  the  reach  of  our  hands — at  our  very 
doors  ?  Mr.  Pryce  Benedick  was  not  a  brute  beast ;  he  had  all 
the  springs  of  our  better  nature  yet  welling  up  undried  within 
him  ;  but  luxury  had  made  him  indolent.  Beneath  his  very 
feet,  Violet — the  child  of  the  sworn  friend  of  his  youth — was 
lying  in  a  swoon,  from  which,  a  few  minutes  later,  the  skill  of 
man  could  not  have  wakened  her,  but,  blind  to  all  but  his  own 
comforts,  he  had  shut  his  ears  deliberately  upon  her  feeble  cry 
of  distress,  and  returned  to  his  heavily-stuffed  cushions  to  forget 
in  less  time  than  it  has  taken  to  record  it  the  whole  occurrence. 

But  the  angels  have  taken  compassion  where  man  would  not. 
Another  ear  beside  Pryce  Benedick's  has  heard  the  voice,  and 
poor  Cousin  Alice  hastens  to  contribute  out  of  her  scanty  store 
that  relief  which  others  had  denied.  She  has  carried  the 
fainting  figure  into  a  comfortable  room  devoted  to  her  own 
uses  in  the  basement  of  the  dwelling,  and  with  her  own  hands 
has  chafed  the  life  blood  into  vigor  in  veins  where  the  current 
was  rapidly  ceasing  to  flow.  A  little  warm  food  and  some 
comfortable  clothing  from  Alice's  wardrobe  restores  our 
humble  Violet,  preserved  by  God's  mercy  from  the  fate  which 
had  threatened  her,  to  her  former  self.  Enfolded  in  the  arms 


C8  VIOLBT,   THE     CHILD     OF    THR     CITT. 

of  Alice,  she  falls  into  a  quiet  slumber,  such  as  she  has  not 
known  since  childhood,  and  when  she  awakes,  in  the  full 
glow  of  the  morning,  it  is  to  find  those  loving  arms  still 
circled  about  her  waist. 


THE     PHILAKTHROriST     AND     HIS    PROTEGE.  <J9 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE    PHILANTHROPIST   AND    HIS   PROTEGE. 

IN  the  very  centre  of  that  classic  locality  known  as  Kidd's 
Court — a  small  cluster  of  rickety  wooden  buildings,  on  the 
North  River  side  of  the  city,  and  situated  almost  within  a 
stone's  throw  of  the  water — stood  the  extensive  lodging 
establishment  of  Mrs.  Tabitha  Blinker,  a  near  relative  of  the 
famous  Mrs.  Partington,  and  the  relict  of  a  defunct  mariner, 
who,  having  left  his  better-half  in  possession  of  a  few  odd 
dollars — his  savings  from  the  profits  of  an  oyster  sloop,  in 
which  the  said  Mr.  Blinker  had  owned  a  share — that  amiable 
lady,  not  knowing  what  better  she  might  do  with  her  means, 
hired,  by  the  advice  of  some  friends,  the  aforementioned 
domicil,  in  Kidd's  Court,  where  she  set  up  what  she  called 
a  "Model  Lodging-House  for  Men."  It  was  a  snug  enough 
sort  of  a  building,  what  there  was  of  it,  consisting  of  only  two 
stories,  with  two  rooms  to  a  floor — besides  a  dusty  garret,  in 
which  was  a  single  dormitory.  Any  day  in  the  week, 
Mistress  Blinker  might  be  seen  through  the  large,  square 
window  in  front,  alternately  attending  -to  the  wants,  of  her 
customers — for  she  kept  a  bar — and  visiting  vengeance  on 
the  extremities  of  her  terrified  children,  of  which  she  had 
some  half-a-dozen,  for  faults  committed  within  the  maternal 


70  VIOLET,   THE    CHILD    OF   THE   CITT. 

hearing.  There  was  not  much  difference  between  this  and 
the  other  edifices  in  Kidd's  Court,  the  only  object  of  relief 
being  a  pump,  which  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  place,  and 
around  which  a  group  of  half-dressed  women  might  generally 
be  seen  at  their  tubs.  Small  signs,  hung  out  at  the  doors  and 
windows  of  the  houses,  denoted  the  callings  of  the  occupants. 
Some  "took  in  washing  and  ironing,  and  going  out  to  day's 
work ; "  another  was  a  boot-maker,  and  hung  out  a  boot  as 
an  emblem  of  his  profession ;  there  were  tailors,  too,  in 
that  romantic  and  classic  region,  and  it  was  whispered  that  a 
person  of  suspicious  appearance,  who  was  accused  of  doing 
up  the  "  items  "  for  one  of  the  city  newspapers,  occupied  a 
garret  in  one  of  the  dwellings. 

Let  us  enter  the  model  lodging-house  of  Mrs.  Blinker — a 
rather  difficult  operation  ;  for  the  door  is  very  low,  and  a 
barricade  of  boards  and  other  articles  has  just  been  erected  by 
the  vigilant  mother,  for  the  purpose  of  keeping  her  rebellious 
family  within  bounds.  Ascending  a  flight  of  very  rickety 
stairs,  without  carpeting  of  any  kind,  a  few  minutes'  tedious 
tramping  bring  us  to  the  door  of  the  little  dormitory  already 
alluded  to. 

This  apartment,  although  so  small  as  to  render  the  act  of 
turning  round  a  difficult  exploit,  was  very  snugly  arranged, 
and  any  one  could  tell  at  a  glance  that  it  was  a  bachelor's 
dwellipg.  A  hammock  swung  from  the  ceiling,  and  the  only 
articles  of  furniture  were  a  table  on  three  legs,  of  very 
ancient  appearance ;  a  chest,  a  plain  mahogany  desk,  several 
chairs,  and  a  limited  set  of  cooking  utensils.  A  bird-cage 


THB     PHILANTHROPIST     AJfD     HIS     PROT^G^.  71 

hung  on  the  wall,  in  which  swung  a  parrot ;  various  curiosities, 
such  as  Indian  weapons,  a  cutlass,  a  gun,  and  some  few  shells, 
served  to  fill  up  the  vacant  space,  with  a  few  cheap  pictures 
illustrating  nautical  subjects. 

About  ten  o'clock  on  a  morning  in  December  this  humble 
apartment  was  occupied  by  two  persons — the  one,  a  man  of 
not  less  than  fifty  years,  whose  countenance  at  once  bespoke 
the  philanthropist.  He  was  very  plainly  dressed,  as  might  be 
supposed  from  the  character  of  the  place  in  which  we  find 
him,  but  his  young  companion  was  attired  a  little  more  in 
keeping  with  modern  fashion.  With  a  bold,  free  air  he 
united  a  kind  of  deferential  expression,  as  though  he  was 
quite  aware  of  his  own  capacities  and  acquirements,  and 
desirous  of  not  stepping  beyond  them. 

"  Mr.  Humphreys,"  as  he  called  himself,  was  one  of  those 
eccentric  beings  who  float  about  the  world  without  appearing 
to  have  anything  in  particular  to  do  with  it,  and  are  usually 
denominated  "old  bachelors."  His  principal  hobby  was  to 
figure  as  a  philanthropist,  and  being  a  man  of  large  property, 
with  no  near  relatives  among  whom  to  divide  it,  he  was 
enabled  to  foster  this  predilection  to  the  utmost  bent  of  his 
humor.  He  had  a  whole  troop  of  proteges  in  various  parts 
of  the  country,  and  in  different  stages  of  advancement,  whom 
he  had  taken  in  every  instance  literally  from  the  streets,  and 
more  than  one  of  whom  owed  an  unsullied  name  and  a  pros- 
perous position  in  life  to  him. 

The  other  tenant  of  the  apartment  was  a  youth  of  not  more 
than  twenty,  who  was  in  fact  one  of  these  very  proteges.  Mr. 


72  VIOLET,    THE    CHILD    OF   THE    CITT. 

Humphreys  had  picked  him  up  a  dirty,  ragged  boy,  in  some 
one  of  the  lowest  haunts  of  the  city — the  son  of  depraved  and 
drunken  parents,  and  totally  destitute  of  even  the  first  rudi- 
ments of  an  education. 

In  spite  of  the  ridicule  of  his  friends,  Mr.  Humphreys  took 
this  unpromising  specimen  in  hand,  gave  him  a  good 
common  schooling,  and  finally  placed  him  in  the  counting- 
house  of  Mr.  Benedick — which  situation  Herbert — as  Mr. 
Humphreys,  with  his  fondness  for  romantic  names,  had 
re-christened  him — was  filling  at  the  time  of  his  introduction 
to  the  reader,  and  where  he  attended  so  well  to  the  duties 
entrusted  to  him,  that  he  soon  became,  as  everywhere  else 
indeed,  a  general  favorite.  But  a  few  months  of  experience 
with  mercantile  life  soon  disgusted  him.  He  found  men  vain, 
proud,  and  supercilious,  or  mean,  selfish,  and  mercenary,  and 
he  was  afraid  that  he  might  one  day  become  like  them. 
Business  was  the  sole  engrossing  topic.  Healthful  and  harm- 
less recreation  for  mind  and  body  seemed  not  to  enter  into 
their  calculations,  and  thus  it  happened  that  many,  if  not  the 
majority,  of  the  clerks  became  fond  of  dissipating  pursuits, 
and  passed  their  nights  in  a  round  of  dangerous  excitements, 
which  too  often  proved  the  cause  of  their  ruin.  And  so  it 
will  undoubtedly  continue  to  be,  until  our  merchants  cease  to 
consider  the  human  organization  as  a  mere  machine  for  the 
manufacture  of  dollars,  and  give  it  some  chance  of  keeping  in 
healthful  repair  by  the  means  ordained  for  its  sustenance  by 
the  Original  Inventor. 

In  the  intervals  of  his  business,  Herbert  had  been  fond  cf 


THE     PHILANTHROPIST    AND     HIS    PROTEGE.  73 

perusing  narratives  relating  to  the  sea,  and  as  this  penchant 
increased  he  began  naturally  to  feel  a  little  discouraged. 

He  took  the  liberty  on  this  occasion  of  mentioning  as 
much  to  his  protector. 

"  Heyday,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Humphreys,  elevating  his  eye- 
brows, in  assumed  displeasure,  from  the  file  of  papers  on 
which  they  had  been  for  some  time  fixed.  "  What  new  idea 
has  taken  possession  of  the  boy  now  ?" 

"  It's  no  new  idea,  as  you  are  well  aware,"  replied  Her- 
bert ;  "  you  know  I  was  always  fond  of  a  sea-faring  life,  and 
never  had  a  taste  for  being  penned  up  like  a  sheep  in  a  fold, 
as  I  am  in  old  Benedick's  offices.  Nothing  but  figures  from 
morning  till  night,  and  that  pennywise  fellow,  Crawley,  eter- 
nally overlooking  and  scolding  me.  It's  enough  to  try  the 
patience  of  a  saint !"  he  added,  with  a  fresh  burst  of  passion. 

"Ay,  ay!  have  patience,  my  lad,"  said  Mr.  Humphreys, 
smiling,  "  remember,  Herbert,  my  boy,  the  example  of  Job." 

"Yes — but  Job  wasn't  a  clerk,  and  there  were  no  Mr. 
Crawleys  to  worry  him,  or  the  good  book  would  not  have  said 
so  much  about  his  patience."  And,  as  he  said  this,  he  walked 
to  the  window,  and  began  an  inspection  of  the  chimney-pots 
which  abounded  in  such  fanciful  varieties  in  every  direction. 

"What  you  say's  all  very  true,"  said  Mr.  Humphreys, 
quietly  pursuing  his  occupation — for  he  had^  the  peculiarity 
of  writing  and  talking  at  the  same  moment.  "  I  was 
young  once  myself,  and  I  know  how  your  hot  blood  yearns 
to  be  doing  something ;  but  we  can't  always  act  as  we  want 
to,  in  this  life,  at  least,  and,  therefore,  we  must  do  as  Provi- 

4 


4  VIOLET,    THE    CHILD    OF   THE    CITT.    N. 

dence  orders.  Who  knows  but  you,  my  lad,  may  one  day  bo 
as  rich  as  your  employer  ?  Persevere :  it  is  the  best  advice 
that  I  can  give  you." 

"  But  give  me  a  tall-rigged  vessel,  and  a  will  of  my  own, 
and  they're  welcome  to  all  the  money  they  can  make  by  their 
trafficking." 

He  said  this  in  a  contemptuous  tone,  which  indicated  suf- 
ficiently how  deeply  his  feelings  were  interested  in  what  he 
said. 

"Ay,  Herbert,  that  expression  reminds  me  of  myself  when 
I  was  a  lad  like  you,  but  experience  has  taught  me  policy. 
I  can  only  recommend  you,  as  I  would  any  young  acquaint- 
ance, not  to  throw  aside  your  mainstay,  and  you'll  be  all  the 
better  for  it  in  after  years." 

"  That's  the  way  of  the  world,  sir,  but  it  isn't  my  way ;  I 
thought  you  had  more  heart  than  to  preach  up  such  cold 
calculating  lessons  to  one  whom  you  have  professed  to  lovo 
as  your  own  son." 

A  tear  stood  in  his  dark  eyes  as  he  said  this,  which  called 
forth  a  corresponding  emotion  in  those  of  the  old  gentleman. 

"Well,  well,"  he  said,  "perhaps  I  am  wrong;  but  time 
will  show.  Only  don't  neglect  my  advice  without  due  consi- 
deration. It  is  all  I  ask,  and  believe  me,  you'll  find  your 
account  in  it  hereafter.  Besides,  Herbert,  you  must  not  for- 
get that  you  have  a  sacred  duty  to  perform,  and  for  that 
you  should  still  be  willing  to  work  and  to  suffer.  God  did 
not  place  any  of  us  here  that  life  might  be  to  us  a  paradise. 
If  that  were  the  case,  we  need  only  immortality  to  render 


THE    PHILANTHROPIST    AND    HIS    PROT£<»6.  ft> 

this  earth  a  Heaven.  No:  we  must  bear  our  burthens 
cheerfully  and  steadily,  like  men  as  we  are,  and  so  conduct 
ourselves  that  we  may  die  without  any  dread  of  the  here- 
after." 

"  You  are  right,  sir — always  right.  I  am  too  impetuous,  I 
grant,  but  even  that  may  be  conquered  if  I  set  about  it.  I 
will  go  back  to  the  counting-house ;  I  will  even  strive  to 
please  the  proud  Mr.  Benedick  for  your  sake ;  but  don't  ask 
me  to  like  Crawley,  that's  all." 

"That's  all  well  spoken,  except  the  last,"  said  Mr. 
Humphreys.  "  We  must  tutor  ourselves  not  to  dislike  any 
one,  and  half  our  troubles  in  this  world  will  be  lightened. 
But  it's  time  you  were  off",  boy.  So  at  once  cheerfully  to 
your  business.  This  evening  you  may  come  to  me  as  usual, 
and  we  will  see  what  can  be  further  done  to  render  your 
place  agreeable. 

Herbert  left  Kidd's  Court,  just  growing  savory  with  an 
unaccountable  smell  of  red  herrings  and  smoked  codfish,  with 
a  lighter  heart,  and  was  soon  in  sight  of  one  of  those  exten- 
sive stores  which  are  now  the  pride  and  boast  of  the  lower 
part  of  the  city.  Entering,  at  once,  this  awe-inspiring  place, 
he  was  met  at  the  door  of  the  office  by  a  tall,  gaunt  indivi- 
dual, with  hair  like  the  bristles  of  a  pig,  and  a  sharp,  acid 
countenance,  not  very  inviting  to  "  outsiders" — as  the  clerks 
were  wont  among  themselves  jocularly  to  describe  it. 

The  moment  Herbert's  eyes  alighted  upon  this  ill-omened 
visage,  he  was  satisfied,  in  his  own  mind,  that  he  was  in  for  it, 
and  he  accordingly  compressed  his  lips,  and  did  his  best  to 


76  VIOLET,    THE   CHILD   OF  THE   OUT. 

resist  the  inclination  which  prompted  him  to  kick  Crawley, 
bristles  and  all,  into  the  street 

"  Good  morning,  sir,"  he  said,  with  a  mock  deferential  bow ; 
he  could  have  smote  himself  afterwards  for  making  it.  "  Fine 
day  for  business." 

"  Morning,  sir,  morning !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Crawley,  in  well 
counterfeited  amazement,  and  pulling  a  gold  repeater  from  his 
fob,  as  he  spoke.  "  Sir,  are  you  aware  that  it  is  near  nine 
o'clock,  sir  ;  nine  o'clock — the  golden  hours  of  the  day 
wasted  and  gone.  Young  man,  this  will  never  do ;  you  must 
be  more  punctual." 

The  youth's  independent  spirit  prompted  him  to  turn  about 
and  give  Mr.  Crawley,  the  store  and  all  a  farewell  benediction, 
but  remembering  Mr.  Humphreys  and  his  parting  injunction, 
he  merely  muttered,  "  I  shall  take  care  another  time,  sir," 
and  passed  into  the  office. 


A   SOIREE    AMONG    THE    UPPER    TEN. 


CHAPTER    XL 

A   6OIRE*E   AMONG   THE    UPPER   TEN. 

THE  "grand  re-union,"  as  Mrs.  Benedick  was  pleased  to 
term  her  party,  at  length  came  off  Great  preparations  had 
evidently  been  made  by  the  Benedicks  to  impress  their  visit- 
ors with  an  idea  of  their  wealth  and  magnificence.  Every- 
thing that  meets  the  eye  on  this  festive  occasion — the 
eighteenth  birthnight  of  the  fair  daughter  of  the  mansion — is 
of  the  most  costly  and  superb  description.  Chairs,  tables, 
ottomans,  etc.,  are  resplendent  with  gilding,  and  ornaments 
of  all  kinds  depend  from  the  walls  and  ceilings  amid  the  rich 
crimson  drapery.  The  principal  staircase  is  decorated  with 
flowers,  and  statuary  interspersed  among  them  at  judicious 
intervals,  while  at  each  platform  stand  a  couple  of  shiny-faced 
negroes,  with  white  jackets  and  aprons,  and  the  blackest  of 
all  possible  countenances,  to  attend  to  the  comforts  of  the 
guests,  and  to  pass  the  names  of  the  various  arrivals,  as,  after 
a  visit  to  the  reception  rooms,  they  prepare  to  ascend. 
Through  the  kind  offices  of  these  grinning  Cerberuses,  Mr. 
Tompson  makes  his  entree  into  the  crowded  drawing-room  as 
Mr.  Jones,  and  an  unfortunate  student  of  medicine,  properly 
named  Sillymore,  is  ushered  into  the  presence  of  several  hun- 
dred fellow  beings,  as  Mr.  Killimore. 


78  VIOLET,   THE    CHILD    OF    THB    CUT. 

On  the  present  occasion,  the  spacious  apartments  of  the 
Benedicks  were  filled  to  repletion  by  as  gay  an  assemblage  as 
ever  congregated  beneath  a  rich  man's  roof,  under  the  name 
of  "fashionable  society."  There  were  bankers,  with  all  the 
importance  of  their  calling  staring  out  in  every  lineament  of 
their  florid  countenances ;  millionaires  gathered  in  small  select 
knots  among  themselves,  and  not  condescending  to  mingle 
with  the  general  crowd,  as  if  fearful  of  being  contaminated 
by  some  one  less  wealthy  than  they ;  merchants  well-to-do, 
but  not  exactly  wealthy,  who  look  at  said  millionaires  with 
awe,  and  tell  capital  jokes  among  themselves  of  Rothschild, 
and  individuals  of  his  calibre. 

Prominent  among  all  these  are  numerous  young  men,  so 
singularly  apparelled,  that  you  are  at  a  loss  to  make  up  your 
mind  whether  they  are  dressed  for  some  burlesque  part  in  a 
contemplated  tableau  vivant,  or  from  serious  choice,  and 
with  a  view  of  rendering  themselves  admired  by  the  multitude. 
Some  of  these  individuals  wear  immense  cravats  of  all  sorts  of 
hues,  and  vests  of  fanciful  figures  and  patterns — some  looking 
like  great  animated  chequer-boards,  others  like  the  covers 
of  illuminated  "  Wandering  Jews "  and  "  Pictorial  Family 
Bibles,"  though  the  greater  number  of  them  exhibit  plain, 
white  facings,  which  give  them  an  undeniably  womanish 
appearance.  Some  have  delicate  moustaches,  very  like  unto 
cockroaches,  in  size  and  hue,  and  bury  themselves  to  the  ears 
in  collars  that,  if  the  wearer  should  be  so  unfortunate  as  to 
get  a  fall,  must  inevitably  cut  his  throat,  or  at  least  deprive 
him  of  an  ear.  Sometimes,  these  juveniles  promenade  arm  in 


A    SOIREE     AMONG     THE     UPPER    TEX.  79 

arin,  or  go  about  retailing  insipidities  among  equally  insipid 
female  friends;  at  others,  they  parade  the  room,  with  deli- 
cate and  pretty  girls,  embowered  in  ringlets,  and  rich  in  bare 
backs  and  shoulders,  hanging  upon  their  arms,  and  having 
rather  the  air  of  men  displaying  to  the  world  their  triumphs. 
Then  there  are  several  juniors,  of  from  twelve  to  eighteen,  with 
standing  collars,  skirt-coats,  and  cravats,  who  stare  at  the 
larger  women  through  eye-glasses,  and  look  languishingly 
whenever  they  catch  the  eyes  of  their  fairer  neighbors,  who 
whisper  and  wonder  among  themselves,  "whose  boys  are 
those  ?"  Most  of  the  talking,  in  fact,  is  effected  by  these 
clever  boys,  assisted  by  the  misses — while  age,  and  wit,  and 
talent  (if  by  accident  some  may  have  found  itself  mixed  up  in 
such  unaccustomed  company),  go  to  the  wall. 

Herbert  having  surveyed  this  scene  in  company  with  Crawley 
— who,  finding  that  there  is  a  chance  of  rising  through  Her- 
bert's popularity  in  the  store,  has  lately  made  him  a  friend, 
which  he  proves  by  obtaining  him  an  invitation  to  tho 
"jam"  of  his  employer — and  conceived  for  everything  he 
sees  an  infinite  disgust,  begins  to  think  of  retiring,  but 
Crawley  insists  upon  his  remaining,  as  the  "fun"  has  not  yet 
commenced. 

Mr.  Crawley  was  attired  with  extreme  care  in  a  suit  of 
black  cloth,  with  a  white  satin  vest,  and  his  shirt  cuffs  neatly 
rolled  back  over  his  sleeves.  Still,  however,  he  had  that 
counting-house  air  about  him,  which  was  so  disgusting  to 
Herbert,  and  which  Mr.  Crawley  himself,  although  dressed  in 


80  VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     OF    THE    OITT. 

the  robes  of  Alexander  the  Great,  could  not  have  shaken  from 
him. 

In  the  glances  that  passed  between  them,  Mr.  Crawley  also 
observed  that  his  companion  was  extremely  well  attired,  and 
made  an  exceedingly  genteel  appearance  in  his  new  toggery, 
and  he,  of  a  sudden,  began  to  grow  communicative,  and  con- 
veyed to  him  much  information  respecting  the  Benedick 
family,  in  such  a  manner  that,  before  they  had  got  half  way 
to  their  place  of  destination,  Herbert's  dread  of  Mr.  Crawley 
began  to  wear  off,  and  he  even  found  that  he  could  sustain  a 
conversation  with  him  tolerably  decently. 

A  sudden  hush  comes  over  the  crowded  apartments ;  the 
whispering,  murmuring,  wheezing,  shuffling  of  fans,  etc.,  is  in 
a  moment  stilled,  as  Julia,  attended  by  her  ever  vigilant 
"  mamma  "  and  several  intimate  female  friends,  glides  grace- 
fully, and  with  a  sort  of  lofty  courtesy,  into  the  room. 

Every  object  was  now  abandoned  for  the  feature  of  the 
evening,  and  introductions  followed  each  ojjher  in  rapid 
succession.  It  was  in  the  midst  of  this  confusion  that  Her- 
bert, under  close  convoy  of  Crawley — whose  name  the  usher 
has  very  appropriately  tortured  into  Smawley — entered  the 
drawing-rooms,  now  crowded  almost  to  suffocation. 

"  Who  is  that  tall,  disdainful  beauty  in  orange  satin  ? " 
asked  Herbert,  as  for  the  first  time  his  eyes  alighted  upon 
Julia  Benedick. 

"That,"  replied  Crawley,  "is  your  employer's  favorite 
daughter,  and  that  fine  young  man  you  see  so  much  about 


AMONG    THB    UPPER    TEN.  81 

her  is  his  son.  Both  very  distinguished  young  persons — Miss 
Benedick,  especially  ;  you  may  look  at  her,  but  you  will  not 
be  allowed  to  address  her." 

Herbert  looked  at  Crawley  with  a  puzzled  expression,  as 
if  he  didn't  exactly  comprehend  him ;  and,  regarding  Miss 
Benedick  more  attentively,  he  saw  in  her  a  beautiful  girl,  whose 
charms,  however,  were  wholly  concealed  by  over-dressing,  and 
in  whose  air  and  manner  there  was  something  so  repulsive 
and  haughty,  that  the  imprudent  youth  immediately  forgot  all 
about  her,  and  transferred  his  attention  to  other  parts  of  the 
room — Mr.  Crawley  kindly  consenting  to  be  his  companion 
in  the  difficult  survey.  At  this  moment,  the  music  struck  up, 
and  the  promenade  commenced — the  modest  and  diffident 
sitting  still,  with  their  backs  against  the  walls  of  the  rooms 
like  so  many  specimens  pinned  up  against  the  back 
of  a  naturalist's  show-case.  Herbert's  wish  being  chiefly  to 
observe,  he  drew  aside  with  Mr.  Crawley,  who  kept  continu- 
ally bowing  and  smiling  to  imaginable  friends,  with  the  view 
of  impressing  his  charge  with  an  idea  of  his  importance,  into 
an  adjacent  corner,  and  certainly  Herbert's  idea  of  the  company 
in  which  he  found  himself  was  anything  but  complimentary 
to  the  individuals,  male  and  female,  who  came  under  his 
inspection.  Meanwhile,  Mr.  Crawley  gave  him  the  pedigree 
and  probable  wealth  of  every  important  personage  in  succes- 
sion, as  he  passed,  interspersed  with  pleasant  little  bits  of 
scandal,  regarding  such  and  such  a  person ;  but  the  youth 
soon  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  Mr.  Crawley,  for  he  found  his 

4* 


82  VIOLET,   THE     CHILD     0*    THE     CITT. 

attention  suddenly  rivetted  by  a  young  girl  of  more  than 
ordinary  attractions,  who  sat  alone  in  an  opposite  niche,  half- 
hidden  from  sight  by  the  drapery,  and  with  an  expression  of 
unhappiness  in  her  features  that  looked  as  if  she  wanted  but 
little  provocation  to  make  her  dissolve  in  tears. 

"  If  I  am  not  too  bold,  sir,"  said  Herbert,  "  and  as  you 
seem  to  be  acquainted  with  almost  every  one  present,  might 
I  ask  who  that  young  lady  is  that  sits  by  herself  in  yonder 
dark  corner  ?" 

Crawley  glanced  in  the  direction  indicated  by  Herbert, 
and  a  frown  shaded  for  an  instant  his  placid  features. 

"  She's  nobody,"  he  answered ;  "  a  poor  dependent  of  the 
family.  You  see  they  take  no  notice  of  her." 

But  Herbert,  from  the  interest  which  he  manifested  in 
her,  by  the  constancy  with  which  his  eyes  reverted  to  that 
quarter  of  the  room,  evidently  considered  her  somebody. 
He  saw,  at  a  glance,  that  she  was  neglected  merely  on 
account  of  her  poverty,  and  his  sympathies  were  immediately 
enlisted  in  her  behalf.  Refreshments  being  announced,  dur- 
ing the  rush  which  followed,  he  managed  to  slip  away  from 
Crawley,  and,  filling  a  plate  with  such  trifles  as  he  thought 
might  prove  acceptable  in  this  case,  he  hurried  over  to  the 
distant  corner  where  Alice  was  still  sitting. 

In  the  meantime,  Crawley  was  hooked  by  a  maiden  lady, 
with  a  forest  of  false  curls,  and  a  profusion  of  bare  back  and 
shoulders,  who  would  be  answered  upon  certain  points  rela- 
tive to  the  family,  and  this  secured  Herbert  a  long  and  delight 


A    SOIREE    AMOXa    TUB    UPPKB    TEX.  83 

ful  tbte-a-t&te  with  Alice ;  who,  finding  one  being  in  the 
world  to  sympathize  with  her,  forgot  for  the  moment  where 
she  was  and  what  she  was  thus  boldly  doing. 

The  company  in  the  neighborhood  of  Julia  was  decidedly 
the  most  lively,  and  a  rattling  fire  of  witty  sayings  was  kept 
up  by  Cousin  Mynns — a  tall  young  man,  with  slight  mous- 
tache, and  altogether  exceedingly  gawky  in  appearance — 
and  Major  Dabster,  U.  S.  A.,  a  ferocious  looking  individual 
in  military  undress,  who  was  continually  boring  the  company 
with  stupid  anecdotes  of  the  late  campaign  in  Mexico — 
though  no  one,  however  friendly  to  the  major,  could,  with  any 
degree  of  certainty,  aver  that  he  had  ever  been  in  action,  or 
performed  half  the  valorous  deeds  for  which  he  gave  himself 
such  frequent  credit. 

There  was  also  Mr.  Pinkerton  Podge,  who  dressed  very 
tastefully — that  is,  fashionably — and  who  appeared  on  the 
best  of  terms  with  everybody  present,  from  the  fact  of  its 
being  rumored  that  he  would,  in  all  human  probabil:ty,  soon 
come  into  possession  of  an  enormous  estate,  which  had  been 
for  years  accumulating  in  the  Podge  family. 

Just  as  Major  Dabster  had  entered  into  another  of  his  long 
campaign  stories,  the  master  of  ceremonies  was  happily 
announced ;  and,  in  the  general  scattering  which  followed, 
Crawley  sought  for  Herbert  in  vain ;  nor  was  it  until  some 
half-hour  had  elapsed  that  Mr.  Benedick  observed  the  alarm- 
ing gulf  into  which  Alice  had  fallen,  and,  pointing  to  them, 
asked  of  Crawley,  with  a  look  of  fire,  what  that  meant? 
Then  it  was  that  Crawley,  out  of  ^hoin  all  the  starch  had 


84  VIOLET,    TUB     CHILD     OF    THE    Cttr. 

been  taken  by  his  superior's  manners,  rushed  up  to  Herbert, 
and,  seizing  him  by  the  sleeve,  dragged  him  urgently  from 
the  place. 

"  So,  here's  a  pretty  how-d'ye-do  !"  he  gasped,  in  a  sudden 
fit  of  rage,  when  they  found  themselves  alone  in  the  deserted 
reception-room,  arranging  their  dresses  preparatory  to  depar- 
ture; "the  pleasures  of  an  evening  cut  short  by  your 
juvenile  imprudences  !  How  dare  you,  sir  2"  and  he  turned  a 
look  of  fury  on  his  young  companion. 

"  Dare !"  retorted  Herbert,  whose  hot  blood  was,  up  in  a 
moment ;  "  come,  I  like  that !  Pray,  who  ai\d  what  are  you, 
that  you  address  me  in  such  terms,  and  in  such  a  manner  ?" 

Mr.  Crawley  leaned  against  the  papering,  fairly  staggered 
by  the  young  man's  audacity. 

"Well,  this  beats  anything  I  remember  ever  to  have 
encountered,"  he  exclaimed,  in  unfeigned  wonder ;  "  a  strip- 
ling like  that  to  use  such  language ;  here's  a  to-do,  indeed ! 
Young  man,  you'll  sweat  for  this  to-morrow.  Come  along," 
and  leading  the  way,  they  both  emerged  into  the  street. 

The  cab  was  standing  there  yet,  but  Herbert  was  too  indig- 
nant to  think  of  returning  home  in  company  with  Mr. 
Crawley.  He,  therefore,  made  out  to  mutter,  "  I  wish  you  a 
very  good  night,  sir  !"  and  hastily  took  his  way,  alone  and  on 
foot,  in  the  direction  of  Kidd's  Court — to  him,  with  all  its 
poverty,  a  far  more  agreeable  place  of  sojourn,  than  the  rich 
man's  domicil,  with  all  its  splendor. 


THE  MORNI.VG  AFTER  THE  REVEL.          85 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE  MORNING  AFTER  THE  REVEL. 

IF  everything  seemed  bright  and  attractive  on  the  night  of 
the  entertainment  at  Mr.  Benedick's,  the  altered  appearance 
of  things  on  the  morning  after  that  memorable  occasion  offer- 
ed a  contrast  which  would  have  slightly  astonished  the  inex- 
perienced youth,  to  whom  it  had  offered  so  novel  an  intro- 
duction to  city  life. 

Mrs.  Benedick  was  seated  in  the  front  drawing-room,  dress- 
ed for  the  reception  of  visitors,  precisely  as  though  she  had 
not  been  attending  to  her  guests  at  four  o'clock  on  that  morn- 
ing. .  Julia  was  seated  at  her  embroidery  frame,  knitting  an 
anti- Macassar,  while  Helen  was  pounding  vigorously  away  at 
a  grand  piano,  to  anything  but  the  delight  of  a  sleepy  neigh- 
borhood. 

Two  or  three  white,  pink-eyed  poodles,  tricked  out  in  parti- 
colored ribbons,  on  the  arrangement  of  which  Mrs.  Benedick 
had  bestowed  more  attention  than  she  would  have  condescend- 
ed to  lavish  on  many  a  human  being  less  fortunate  in  his  cir- 
'  cumstances  than  the  poodles,  were  lolling  about  on  the  chairs 
and  sofas. 

The  countenances  of  each  of  the  ladies  gave  indications  of 
the  preceding  night's  dissipation,  being  exceedingly  pale,  and 


88  VIOLET,    THE    CHILD    OF   THE     GITT. 

the  eyes  red  and  inflamed  for  want  of  rest.  The  interest  was 
enhanced  by  a  certain  air  of  ill-humor  which  rested  like  a 
cloud  upon  the  features  of  all. 

"  I  declare,  Helen,  you  are  incurable !"  exclaimed  tho 
mother,  laying  down  the  book  she  had  been  reading,  and 
-  glancing  angrily  at  the  piano.  "  It  is  utterly  impossible  for 
me  to  understand  what  I  am  reading,  with  such  a  horrid  din 
continually  resounding  in  my  ears.  Do,  pray,  close  your 
instrument  and  try  something  else." 

"  Why,  ma  chere  niaman,"  replied  the  dutiful  child,  in  that 
affected  mixture  of  English  and  French  which  in  exclusive  cir- 
cles is  considered  so  genteel ;  "  how  can  you  call  it  a  din  ? 
Monsieur  Tetedeveau,  my  tutor,  declares  that  I  play  charm- 
ingly, and  I'm  sure  he  ought  to  be  a  judge  !" 

"  Tettyvous  fiddlesticks !"  replied  maman,  testily.  "  I  won- 
der, child,  how  you  came  to  fancy  that  man  for  a  teacher. 
I'm  sure,  /  cant !" 

"  Not  fancy  him  ?  Not  fancy  Tetedeveau  !  Oh !  maman, 
I'm  sure  you  don't  speak  as  you  think.  Besides  having  such 
a  beautiful  moustache  and  luxuriant,  head  of  hair,  (Tetedeveau's 
head  was  like  a  mop),  he  is  one  of  the  most  distinguished 
of  the  foreign  refugees,  and  his  conversation  is  so  remarkably 
interesting,  that  I  could  listen  to  him  for  hours.  They  say, 
too,  that  he  is  connected  with  one  of  the  oldest  families ;  and 
when  the  Bourbons  again  come  into  power,  which  our  paper 
says  they're  going  to  do  immediately,  he's  sure  to  be  a  great 
character.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  they  made  him  prime  minis- 
ter, with  such  talents." 


THB  MORNING  AFTER  THE  REVEL.          87 

(Tetedeveau  ought  to  have  been  made  High  Treasurer,  for 
his  charges  were  of  such  a  nature  as  to  show  that  he  had  a 
decided  genius  for  finance.) 

"  Whatever  may  be  Mr.  Tettyvou's  opinion,  I  wish  that  you 
would  cease  playing." 

"  Impossible,  maman.     I  am  practising." 

"  Then  do,  for  goodness'  sake,  play  something  besides  that 
horrid  polka !  It  quite  makes  my  head  ache." 

"You  talk  very  strangely,  maman.-  I  dare  say  if  Julia 
played  it  you'd  be  well  enough  pleased,"  she  added,  with  a 
look  of  spite  and  jealousy  at  her  sister — at  whom  she  felt 
naturally  indignant  for  claiming  all  the  attention  of  the  men. 

"  Mother  is  right,"  for  the  first  time  put  in  Julia,  returning 
the  look  with  interest — for  she  was  daily  in  fear  that  her  sis- 
ter's attractions  might  lessen  the  circle  of  her  own  admirers. 
"  It  is  distressing  to  hear  that  eternal  polka  incessantly  din- 
ning in  one's  ears,  when  one  is  interested  in  a  book.  You  see 
I  prefer  more  peaceful  employments." 

"  And  well  you  may,"  rejoined  Helen,  u  for,  mercy  knows, 
you  made  noise  enough  in  your  singing  days  to  drown  the 
noise  of  fifty  pianos,  even  if  they  were  all  played  by  Meyer 
instead  of  your  sister." 

"  Helen,  you  are  getting  insolent." 

"  Not  more  insolent  than  yourself,  miss  !" 

"  It's  a  falsehood,  ma'am  !    I  never  was  more  conciliating  I" 

"  The  falsehood  is  all  on  your  own  side." 

"  I  say  it  is  not !" 

"  I  aay  it  is !" 


88  VIOLET,    TH3     CHILD     OF     THE     CUT. 

"  You  tell  a  fib,  miss !" 

"  I — M&af/"  almost  screams  Helen,  bouncing  up  and  apos- 
trophising her  exclamation  with  one  tremendous  bang  upon 
the  piano. 

"You  tell  a  fib,  I  repeat!" 

"Then  take  that,  and  that,  and  that,  Miss!"  cries  the 
injured  Helen,  darting  towards  her  sister,  upon  whose  cheeks 
she  succeeded  in  delivering  a  single  slap  with  those  dainty 
fingers  which  were  so  much  praised  by  her  admirers — when 
the  mother,  throwing  down  her  novel,  rushed  forward  with 
a  shriek,  and  burying  her  fingers  in  the  long  and  streaming 
tresses  of  her  youngest  born,  pulled  her  forcibly  backward. 

As  if  all  this  racket  was  not  sufficient,  the  poodles  rushed 
frantically  from  their  various  retreats,  and  commenced  a 
vigorous  assault  upon  the  heels  of  the  combatants.  At  this 
moment  the  door  of  the  apartment  in  which  this  interesting 
domestic  scene  was  taking  place  was  rather  abruptly  opened, 
disclosing  to  view  the  portly  figure  of  Mr.  Benedick,  and  the 
bewhiskered  lineaments  of  a  tall  foreigner,  who  seemed 
suddenly  rivetted  to  the  floor  by  the  unusual  sight. 

But  if  the  anger  of  the  father  and  the  confusion  of  the 
visitor  were  great,  the  dismay  which  seized  the  ladies  on 
being  thus  detected  in  the  little  disagreeabilities  of  domestic 
life  was  far  greater. 

At  the  moment  the  door  flew  open,  they  formed  among 
themselves  a  tableau  vivant,  which  in  point  of  spirit  and  effect 
far  surpassed  anything  that  had  ever  been  gotten  up  in  those 
elegant  drawing-rooms  for  the  delectation  of  their  friends. 


THE    MORNIXG    AFTER    THE    REVBL.  89 

Mrs.  Benedick  standing  in  the  attitude  she  had  just  assumed, 
retained  her  grasp  of  Helen's  hair,  while  casting  a  backward 
glance  at  the  intruders.  Helen,  thus  entangled,  and  bending 
backward  in  the  shape  of  a  crescent  (for  her  mother,  to 
use  a  nautical  phrase,  had  "  hauled  taut "  ),  with  her  hands 
tossed  wildly  in  the  air,  had  opened  her  rosy  mouth  for  one 
loud,  prolonged  blast  from  woman's  most  effective  organ — 
while  Julia,  with  two  of  the  poodles  which  she  had  caught 
up  in  her  arms,  stood  on  the  defensive.  One  remaining  poodle, 
partaking  of  the  general  feeling  of  shame,  shrunk  meanly 
under  one  of  the  sofas. 


•;3i;  xo  vth.' 


.   ,-!.>etf mi-ill       rul 


90  VIOLET,   THE    CHILD    OF    THK    CITT. 


CHAPTER  XILL 

HERBERT    LOSES    HIS    PLACS. 

FOR  many  days  after  the  occurrence  just  narrated,  Herbert's 
position  at  the  counting-room  was  a  very  unpleasant  one. 
Mr.  Crawley's  disposition  had  a  far  greater  infusion  of  the 
lemon  in  it  than  usual,  and  the  boy  occasionally  observed  Mr. 
Benedick  gazing  upon  him  abstractedly,  and  with  a  lowering 
countenance,  waking  up  suddenly  as  it  were,  and  walking 
away  whenever  he  found  himself  caught  in  the  act.  Con- 
scious that  he  had  done  nothing  to  merit  reproach,  however, 
Herbert  did  not  relax  his  usual  cheerfulness,  but  applied  him- 
self to  his  duties  as  vigorously  as  ever,  satisfied  that  he  earned 
every  penny  that  he  received  in  compensation  for  his  labors. 
Crawley  disliked  him,  it  was  evident ;  and,  as  he  was  the 
paymaster  of  the  concern,  he  always  took  care  that  Herbert 
should  be  the  last  one  to  receive  his  salary,  and  embraced 
every  little  opportunity  of  annoying  the  poor  boy  that  might 
present  itself? 

But  Herbert  bore  all  uncomplainingly,  even  tolerating  Mr. 
Crawley's  ill- humor,  and  every  leisure  moment  was  devoted 
to  the  cultivation  of  those  intellectual  tastes  which  seem  to 
be  inherent  in  almost  every  nature,  and  which  modern  society 
alone  seems  bent  upon  eradicating.  And  as  he  increased  in 


HERBERT  LOSES  HIS  PLACE.  91 

intelligence  his  dislike  of  Pryce  Benedick  increased  in  pro- 
portion, until  he  had  almost  resolved,  were  it  only  for  a  change, 
to  cut  his  detestable  clerkship,  and  follow  the  sea. 

And  Alice !  did  she  ever  pause  to  think  of  him — the  youth- 
ful stranger,  whose  musical  voice  had  poured  into  her  gentle 
ears  almost  the  only  words  of  kindness  she  had  ever  known  ? 

Many  a  time  and  oft  did  Herbert  ask  himself  this  question, 
but  to  no  purpose.  Mr.  Humphreys,  of  course,  he  had  made, 
as  in  duty  bound,  the  confidant  of  all  his  secrets,  and  the  old 
man  had  compelled  him  to  repeat  the  account  of  the  ball,  with 
his  impressions  of  what  he  saw  and  heard,  and  particu- 
larly the  scene  that  had  transpired  between  himself  and 
Crawley,  until  it  had  grown  to  be  a  stale  subject  with  Herbert. 
Whenever  Herbert  spoke  of  Alice,  however,  the  old  man  shook 
his  hand  disapprovingly,  and  advised  him  to  give  it  up,  as  a 
bad  bargain,  which  would  be  likely  to  entail  a  world  of 
trouble  upon  both  of  them. 

"It's  of  no  use,  sir,"  he  would  answer,  in  reply  to  these 
remonstrances,  ''I  must  think  of  her,  and  I  will  think  of  her, 
for  I  can't  help  it ;  and  as  for  that  fellow,  Crawley,  for  ten 
words  of  his  impudence,  I'll  deprive  him  of  that  eternal  sneer 
that  he's  got,  by  spoiling  a  few  of  those  teeth  that  he  so 
prides  himself  upon." 

He  spoke  again  of  abandoning  his  present  pursuit,  but  hia 
more  aged  adviser  was  strong  against  it.  He  set  before  him 
the  probable  consequences  of  such  a  step,  and  finally  so  ur- 
gently implored  him  to  remain  with  Benedick,  that  Herbert 
could  not  help  attributing  this  earnestness  to  some  motive 


02  VIOLET,   THE    CHILD    OF    THE    CITY. 

other  than  his  own  welfare.  Before  long,  however,  a  circum- 
stance transpired  that  decided  the  question  without  his  own 
interference. 

Hitherto  Herbert  had  been  a  mere  nonentity  in  the  counting- 
room  ;  but,  as  the  clerks  began,  by  degrees,  to  be  aware  of  the 
fact  that  he  had  attracted  the  notice  of  Mr.  Benedick  himself, 
and  that  he  had  several  times  succeeded  in  getting  the  better 
of  Crawley,  whom  they  all  detested  equally  with  him,  and 
whose  presence  they  endured  as  a  patient  does  a  dose  of  quinine, 
taken  daily,  they  began  to  think  seriously  of  admitting  him 
into  their  confidence — of  making  him  one  of  the  honorable 
body  of  which  they  formed  a  part.  Accordingly,  after  a  brief 
conference,  held  during  the  temporary  absence  of  some  of  the 
heads  of  the  establishment,  it  was  resolved  unanimously,  that 
he  should  be  apprised  of  the  honor  intended  him ;  and  one  of 
their  members,  Ferris  by  name,  was  deputed  to  place  himself 
in  communication  with  the  young  gentleman  as  speedily  as 
possible. 

Mr.  Ferris  was  an  individual  whose  style  of  dress  and  general 
manner  of  conducting  himself  indicated  that,  in  his  own 
opinion,  at  least,  he  was  a  personage  of  no  little  consequence. 
He  was  short  and  very  slender,  and  wore  a  habit  sufficiently 
large  to  clothe  a  person  of  double  his  size.  He  had  a 
taste  for  colors,  too ;  and  acting  upon  this  principle,  his  panta- 
loons were  of  light  blue  cloth,  his  vest  nankeen,  his  coat  a 
bottle  green,  his  cravat  of  as  many  hues  as  you  can  conveniently 
group  together  at  one  time  in  your  imagination ;  added  to 
this,  his  complexion  was  extremely  ruddy  and  rubicund,  and 


HERBERT  LOSES  HIS  PLACE.  9£ 

his  head  was  surmounted  by  a  crop  of  hair  quite  as  yellow  as 
that  which  figures  in  stage  wigs,  under  the  title  of  "  low 
comedy."  In  fact,  the  whole  demeanor  and  appearance  of  Mr. 
Ferris  were  so  irresistibly  comic,  that,  placed  on  the  stage, 
"  accoutred  as  he  was,"  that  individual  could  not  have  failed 
to  create  an  excitement. 

Herbert  was  on  the  point  of  leaving  the  counting-room  one 
evening,  when  this  personage,  who  had  purposely  remained 
behind  the  rest,  tapped  him  gently  on  the  shoulder. 

"Ferris!  you  here  still  ?  been  having  a  confidential  talk  with 
Crawley,  eh  ?"  exclaimed  Herbert,  lightly,  not  supposing  that 
any  one  about  the  great  establishment  thought  him  worthy  of 
being  spoken  to  on  his  own  account. 

"No,  not  exactly  that,"  replied  Mr.  Ferris,  "but,  I  say, 
Herbert,  you  and  old  Crawley  don't  seem  to  agree  very  well 
together,  do  you  ?" 

"  Maybe  we  do  and  maybe  we  don't,"  he  replied,  having,  at 
first,  a  shrewd  idea  that  his  companion  was  "  pumping  him." 

"  Come,  now,  don't  be  off-ish,"  said  Mr.  Ferris,  who  saw  that 
his  motives  were  suspected,  and  really  felt  hurt  at  the  insinua- 
tion. "  We're  fellow  clerks,  you  know,  and  betwixt  me  and 
you,  I  hate  old  Crawley  as  I  do  the  devil — that  is,  compara- 
tively speaking,"  he  added,  in  his  turn  looking  suspiciously  at 
Herbert. 

"  Well,  that's  some  consolation,"  returned  Herbert,  "  but  see 
here,  Ferris,  there's  something  strange,  I  must  confess,  in  all  this. 
I  know  that  I've  been  the  butt  of  the  whole  office,  ever  since  I 
came  into  the  establishment,  and  you'll  excuse  me  if  I  ask 


94  VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     OV    THE    CIIT. 

your  motive  in  addressing  me,  before  I  honor  you  with  my 
confidence." 

"  You  may  rely  upon  me,"  returned  Ferris,  with  his  hand 
upon  the  left  breast  of  his  coat. 

"  Well — heave  ahead !"  rejoined  Herbert,  carelessly. 

"  Don't  talk  of  heaving,  I  beg  of  you,"  returned  Ferris,  putting 
his  hand  on  his  fellow-clerk's  arm,  and  making  a  very  long 
face  as  he  spoke ;  "  that  abominable  word  always  puts  me  in 
mind  of  the  .time  when  I  was  sent  out  as  supercargo  in  the 
Sally  Ann,  and  the  reminiscences  connected  therewith  are  by 
no  means  agreeable,  I  assure  you,  on  the  word  of  a  gentle- 
man." 

"  This  is  a  precious  lubber,  at  any  rate,"  thought  Herbert : 
adding  aloud — "  You  don't  like  the  sea,  then  ?  I  beg  your 
pardon.  Pray,  go  on." 

"  That's  more  like  it,"  said  Mr.  Ferris,  with  a  brighter  look 
than  before.  "  And,  as  you're  so  candid  about  your  affairs,  I 
may  as  well  tell  you  at  once  why  I  spoke  to  you.  You  see, 
there's  a  good  many  of  us  clerks  attached  to  the  house — " 

"  Of  course ;  I  am  aware  of  that,"  replied  Herbert. 

"  And  the  last  comer,  being  the  junior — you  understand." 

"  Perfectly ;  nothing  can  be  more  clear." 

"  Is  not  immediately  admitted  upon  terms  of  equality  with 
those  who  came  before  him.  Am  I  plain  ?" 

"  You  mean,  in  short,  that  the  last  comer  is  generally  con- 
sidered a  fit  subject  for  the  jokes  and  jibes  of  the  office.  Well, 
proceed." 

"  You  should  not  take  it  quite  so  seriously,"  remonstrated 


HERBERT     LOSES     HIS     PLACE.  05 

his  brother  clerk ;  "  the  fact  is,  and  why  mince  the  matter, 
my  chums  have  witnessed  with  pleasure  the  spirit  you  have 
manifested  in  your  frequent  bickerings  with  that  old  turtle, 
Crawley — I  speak  comparatively,  mind — and  having  come  to 
the  conclusion  that  you  are  a  regular  trump,  and  there's  good 
stuff  in  you,  they — that  is,  we — have  resolved  to  make  you 
one  of  us !" 

"  No !"  exclaimed  Herbert,  with  assumed  earnestness. 

"  Yes,  it's  a  fact ;  but  that's  not  all ;  you  see — pardon  my 
plainness,  but  you  are  evidently  green  as  a  pea,  in  matters 
appertaining  to  the  shop,  and  don't  therefore  comprehend  me, 
perhaps,  quite  as  clearly  as  if  you  had  been  an  old  hand  at  the 
bellows — you  see  there's  a  good  deal  of  indignation  prevailing 
among  us  just  now  as  a  body,  at  the  unjust  and  overbearing 
conduct  of  our  employers" — Herbert  pricked  up  his  ears — 
"  and,  in  fact,  betwixt  me  and  you,  we're  determined — that  is, 
the  clerks  of  New  York  generally — have  determined  "to  call  a 
meeting,  for  the  purpose  of  letting  our  employers  know  what 
we  think  of  'em  ?  Now,  do  you  like  the  idea,  eh  j" 

The  idea  of  letting  their  employers  know  what  they  thought 
of  them  ?  It  suited  Herbert  exactly. 

"  Capital !"  he  said ;  and  his  countenance  left  no  doubt  that 
he  entered  fully  into  the  meaning  of  the  thing. 

"  I'm  glad  to  see  there's  so  much  spirit  in  them." 

"Then  you  will  join  the  movement?"  said  Ferris,  much 
pleased. 

"To  be  sure,  I  will,  heart  and  soul.  But,  what's  the  prime 
object  ? — there's  an  object,  isn't  there  ?"  asked  Herbert. 


96  VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     OF     THB 

"Of  course — six  o'clock  for  shutting  up,  or  no  clerks," 
responded  Mr.  Ferris,  firmly. 

"  And  when  do  you  meet  ?" 

"  To-night,  at  eight.    Will  you  come  ?" 

"I'll  consult  my  friends,"  replied  Herbert,  thoughtfully, 
"  and  if  I  see  no  reason  to  change  my  mind,  upon  mature 
reflection,  I'll  be  with  you." 

"  Do,  by  all  means,  and  I'll  call  for  you  in  the  evening." 

"  If  you  please,  I'd  rather  you  wouldn't,"  said  Herbert,  color- 
ing at  the  thought  of  the  meanness  of  his  lodgings ; 
"  appoint  some  place  not  far  out  of  the  way,  and  I'll  meet 
you  at  any  hour  you  may  designate." 

Mr.  Ferris  did  appoint  a  place  of  rendezvous,  a  well-known 
hotel  in  the  vicinity  of  the  Mercantile  Library — the  conduc- 
tors of  which  famous  institution  were  luckily  ignorant  of  the 
plot  that  was  hatching,  or  that  temple  of  learning  might  have 
been  shaken  to  its  foundations — and  then  the  fellow-clerks 
shook  hands,  and  separated. 

At  half-past  seven,  Herbert  repaired  to  Lovejoy's,  where  he 
found  Mr.  Ferris,  anxiously  awaiting  his  arrival.  Taking  his 
fellow-clerk's  arm,  he  proceeded  with  him  to  a  neighboring 
tavern,  ascending  to  the  second  floor  of  which,  they  shortly 
found  themselves  entering  a  spacious  room,  the  objects  in 
which  were  at  first  invisible,  from  the  enormous  quantities  of 
cigar  smoke  that  filled  it.  And  looking  more  closely, 
Herbert  found  himself  in  the  centre  of  a  crowd  of  young 
men,  all  attired  in  what  appeared  to  be  the  very  extreme  of 
fashion,  and  each  having  in  his  mouth  a  lighted  cigar. 


HERBERT     LOSES     HIS     PLACE.  97 

Indeed,  judging  from  the  elegance  of  their  costume,  and  th« 
profusion  of  breastpins,  watch-chains,  rings,  seals,  et  cetera, 
one  would  have  supposed  himself  to  have  stepped  in  upon  a 
meeting  of  wealthy  employers,  instead  of  an  indiscriminate 
array  of  indignant  clerks. 

Ten  o'clock  had  arrived  before  any  particular  movement 
•was  made.  By  that  time,  he  who  had  been  elected  as  presi- 
dent%f  the  meeting  thought  fit  to  place  himself  at  the  head 
of  a  long  baize-covered  table,  loaned  for  the  occasion,  and  to 
call  the  meeting  to  "  order."  At  this  command,  the  confu- 
sion was  redoubled;  and  the  rapping  of  the  president's 
knuckles  upon  the  table,  appeared  to  add  to,  rather  than 
diminish,  the  prevailing  disorder.  At  last,  however,  compa- 
rative silence  was  obtained,  a  set  of  officers  was  with 
difficulty  organised,  and  the  minutes  of  some  previous 
meeting  were  read  to  almost  unheeding  ears.  Several  speeches 
were  then  made,  which  afforded  Herbert  some  amusement, 
and  Mr.  Ferris  grew,  at  length,  to  be  so  excited  upon  the 
subject,  that  he  mounted,  first  a  chair,  and  then  the  table 
itself,  and  gave  the  assemblage  a  speech,  which  they,  in  bles- 
sed innocence  of  what  he  was  saying,  applauded  vociferously. 
How  long  Mr.  Ferris  might  have  continued,  it  is  difficult  to 
say  ;  for  he  had  at  last  come  to  a  pause,  and  was  considering 
what  next  to  utter,  when  a  voice  in  the  crowd  suggested  to 
him  to  "  heave  ahead,  there," — words  which,  though  compa- 
ratively unmeaning,  had  such  an  effect  upon  Mr.  Ferris  that 
he  precipitately  descended  from  his  elevated  position,  and 
was  seen  no  more,  as  an  orator,  that  night. 

•5 


98  VIOLET,   THE     CHILD     OF    THE    CUT. 

The  "speeches"  having  been  got  through  with,  it  was 
suggested  that  the  "refreshments"  should  be  introduced; 
and  at  the  word,  several  mysterious-looking  men,  with 
cadaverous  countenances,  and  seedy  clothes,  who  had  been 
seated,  during  the  evening,  near  the  president,  busily  engaged 
in  writing,  scrambled  together  an  incongruous  collection  of 
bits  of  paper,  and  hurried  away,  like  the  witches  in 
"Macbeth,"  calling  up  in  the  beholder's  mind  involuntarily 
the  expression  of  the  great  thane  of  Fife:  "the  air  hath 
bubbles  as  the  water  hath,  and  these  are  of  them  I" 

Then  what  a  scene  commenced.  Business  being  set  aside 
for  the  night,  the  multitude  fell  to  work  at  demolishing  rare- 
bits and  cold  cuts;  and  bowl  after  bowl  of  hot  punch  was 
brought  in,  and  "  put  away "  wi£h  a  celerity  which  proved 
that  they  were  not  unfamiliar  with  such  delicacies.  Herbert 
would  have  departed,  but  his  new  friends  were  so  jolly,  and 
Mr.  Ferris  was  so  pressing  in  his  attentions,  that  it  was  mid- 
night before  he  got  away,  and  when  he  left  the  crowded  and 
noisy  room,  he  felt  that  he  had  gone  beyond  his  bounds,  and 
that  indulging,  as  he  had,  in  place  of  "  attending  to  business," 
he  had  made  himself  an  actor  in  one  of  the  most  ridiculous 
farces  that  had  ever  been  perpetrated  within  his  limited 
knowledge. 

The  clerks'  meeting  had  its  effect,  though ;  flaming  reports 
of  the  proceedings  appeared  the  next  day  in  the  papers, 
accompanied  by  warm  editorials  upon  the  subject,  urging  that 
clerks  had  need  of  some  little  respite  for  the  improvement  of 
their  minds.  Most  of  the  community  succumbed  to  the 


HERBERT     LOSES     HIS    PLACE.  99 

arrangement,  and  great  was  the  delectation  of  the  clerks  of 
New  York  city  thereupon.  By  way  of  improving  their 
minds,  they  resorted  in  swarms,  each  night,  to  the  theatre, 
and  places  of  like  amusement,  and,  in  the  course  of  a  few 
months,  the  keepers  of  several  well-known  restaurants 
retired  upon  the  strength  of  the  sudden  addition  to  their 
business. 

The  result  of  this  meeting,  however,  was  disastrous  to  at 
least  two  of  the  participators  in  it.  The  morning  after  the 
revel,  as  Herbert  lay  in  his  little  cot,  with  a  racking  pain  at 
his  head,  the  consequence  of  the  preceding  night's  debauch,  he 
received  a  polite  note,  in  the  hand-writing  of  Mr.  Crawley, 
stating  that  his  services  were  no  longer  needed  by  "the 
house ;"  and  Mr.  Ferris,  after  being  severely  taken  to  task, 
as  the  author  of  the  glowing  speech  which  appeared  in  the 
"  Investigator  "  of  that  morning,  and  most  of  which,  by  the 
way,  originated  with  the  reporters  themselves,  was  ordered  to 
quit  the  premises,  which  he  did,  dissolved  in  a  flood  of  briny 
tears. 

The  "  six  o'clock  movement "  having  resulted  in  obtaining, 
for  those  at  least  who  were  concerned  in  that  memorable 
affair,  not  only  the  number  of  hours  (for  mental  and  moral 
improvement,  etc.,  etc.,)  desired  by  its  originators,  but  even 
more  than  they  deemed  necessary  to  the  purpose,  Herbert 
found  himself  at  leisure  to  form  new  plans  for  the  future, 
and  it  was  not  long  before  he  had  made  choice  of  the  Law,  as 
a  means  wherewith  to  earn  his  daily  bread — the  Law  being, 
as  he  imagined,  about  the  only  profession  that  was  yet  left 


100  VIOLET,     THE     CHILD     OF    THE     CITY. 

open  to  beginners.  Fortunately  for  his  peace  of  mind, 
Herbert  had  not,  thus  far,  the  remotest  knowledge  of  that 
interesting  tribe  of  young  gentlemen  who  daily  repair  to  what 
they  call  their  "  chambers  "  (usually  little  dens  about  the  size 
of  an  ordinary  clothes-press,  munificently  furnished  forth  with 
two  chairs  and  a  desk),  to  lie  in  wait  for  that  client  who  is  so 
remarkably  backward  in  coming  forward,  or  even  his  daunt- 
less spirit  would  have  shrunk  at  the  contemplation  of  the 
troubles  that  were  to  beset  his  path  in  the  carrying  out  of  his 
ambitious  intentions. 

Mr.  Humphreys  jocosely  asked  his  young  protege  if  he  had 
not  better  try  the  medical  line,  as  students  of  that  ilk 
were  so  scarce ;  but  seeing  that  Herbert  had  resolved 
upon  making  the  essay,  the  good  old  gentleman  opposed  him 
no  longer. 

"  Luckily,"  he  said,  "  I  have  done  something  in  that  way 
myself,  so  your  first  steps,  if  you  should  happen  to  be  dis- 
couraged, need  not  cost  you  much  besides  the  lost  time." 

Mr.  Humphreys  soon  found  an  opportunity  of  entering 
Herbert  as  a  reader  and  copyist  at  the  office  of  a  legal 
acquaintance,  who  promised  to  forward  the  lad's  views  as  far 
as  might  be  in  his  power.  In  order  that  Herbert  might  not 
suffer  from  the  want  of  exercise  and  fresh  air — two  things  so 
essential  to  and  yet  so  rarely  enjoyed  by  the  student — Mr. 
Humphreys,  now  that  the  summer  heats  were  drawing  near, 
had  a  neat  little  villa  of  his  own,  to  which  he  sometimes 
retired  from  the  noise  of  the  town,  fitted  up  anew  for  their 
accommodation,  and  here  he  resolved  that  the  young  student 


HERBERT  LOSES  HIS  PLACE.  101 

should  make  his  home,  until  the  return  of  winter  should 
render  necessary  another  change  of  quarters. 

There  was  something  in  all  this  peculiarly  pleasing  to 
Herbert,  and  in  order  to  testify  his  gratitude  to  Mr.  Hum- 
phreys, he  entered  upon  his  legal  studies  with  more  than  his 
usual  diligence  ;  so  that,  before  two  weeks  had  elapsed,  he  had 
read  Blackstone  through  from  beginning  to  end,  and,  knowing 
of  course  by  that  time  nothing  about  it,  had  to  begin  again — 
more  slowly. 

"Never  mind,  my  boy,"  Mr.  Humphreys  would  say, 
"  you'll  have  to  repeat  that  prescription  a  great  many  times 
more,  and  some  more  nauseous  doses,  I  can  tell  you,  before 
you  write  your  first  brief." 

Herbert  gave  little  heed  to  these  well-meant  admonitions — 
what  youth  of  his  age  ever  did  ? — and  the  usual  preliminaries 
were  at  his  desire  immediately  entered  into. 

During  the  brief  interval  which  had  elapsed,  however, 
since  the  birth-night  party,  a  new  subject  had  treacherously 
urged  itself  upon  Herbert's  attention.  This  was  his  interview 
with  the  fair  Alice,  whose  position  and  prospects  at  tho 
Benedicks  were  so  nearly  akin  to  his  own  that,  in  spite  of 
himself,  the  interest  implanted  in  his  breast  on  that  occasion 
kept  quietly  gaining  ground,  until  he  at  last  found  it  no  easy 
matter  to  keep  her  out  of  his  thoughts  during  the  hours  of 
study. 

He  soon  found  that  it  would  be  imperative  on  him  to  do 
this,  and  while  he  was  making  his  mind  up  to  act  the  "  hero," 
or  the  "  martyr  " — which  ever  character  his  destiny  might  insist 


102  VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     OF     THE     CITY. 

upon  thrusting  on  him  (how  immensely  important  are  these 
seemingly  trivial  affairs  to  the  young  and  romantic ;  that  is 
to  all  of  us  before  prudence  and  policy  enter  into  our  calcu- 
lations to  put  an  effectual  extinguisher  upon  the  genuine 
emotions  of  the  heart !)  fate  was  quietly  shaping  his  lot  to 
suit  her  own  purposes. 


yfeoois^*!?  bad  : 

wormlnrwrfaBwatiiT  .ftoiteatte  afit<xfToH 
•nit  Ja  ;.afc»q«mf  baft  aohbotf  aabifw  r*»H 
fe  Mt<{»  « ,fcufr  awo  4&  oj  arJK  yfug^j  O 

1TOI8.V 


riil  oo  ««riJfiT9q«T.r  ocf  Wuow  ir  Jmfi 
,m4d-  ?»jbi'j«  .'>'  at;  /juim  g£i{  ^a/ifioT  ?e-*r 


LIFE     AMONG     THE     "  UNDER-CURRENT."  103 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

LIFE    AMONG    THE     "  UNDER-CURRENT." 

FAR  out  upon  one  of  the  least  frequented  of  the  avenues,  in 
the  midst  of  one  of  those  dreary  and  vacant  wastes 
which  abound  in  the  suburbs  of  all  growing  cities, 
stood,  at  the  time  of  these  occurrences,  an  old,  dilapi- 
dated dwelling,  long  ago  abandoned  by  its  owners  to  the  rats 
and  mice,  which  were  generally  supposed  to  be  its  only  occu- 
pants. It  formed  part  and  parcel  of  the  property  of  Mr.  Pryce 
Benedick ;  but,  as  it  lay  in  a  district  not  often  visited  by 
human  footsteps,  and  as  Pryce  had  no  immediate  use  for 
the  land  upon  which  it  stood,  choosing  rather  to  hold  it  for  a 
rise  in  real  estate,  it  had  been  suffered  to  rot  and  decay  there 
by  degrees — a  very  different  object  from  what  it  had  been  in 
the  days  of  the  former  proprietor ;  when  it  was  the  happy  and 
comfortable  dwelling  of  a  numerous  family,  surrounded  on 
all  sides  by  abundant  cornfields  and  fruit-teeming  orchards, 
with  no  idea  that  the  whistle  of  a  locomotive  would  ever  disturb 
the  calm  repose  that  brooded  o'er  it. 

To  the  casual  passer-by,  the  old  building  had  the  appear- 
ance of  being  untenauted ;  for  no  glass  defiled  the  sash- 
less  and  gaping  windows  of  the  decayed  rookery,  and  the 
north-easterly  winds  made  sad  moans  through  the  half-rotted 


104  VIOLKT,   THE     CHILD     OF    THE    CITr. 

clapboards.  But,  go  below,  and  a  very  different  pictnre  was 
presented.  The  room  to  which  we  introduce  the  reader,  had 
been  originally  used  as  a  kitchen — a  fact  that  was  sufficiently 
evident,  from  the  immense  chimney-place  which  occupied 
almost  one  entire  side  of  the  apartment,  and  also  from  the 
circumstance  of  its  being  paved  with  brick.  Great,  yawning 
cracks  intersected  the  plastering  of  the  walls,  hurnid  with  the 
exhalations  of  the  vault.  Overhead,  there  was  nothing  to 
conceal  from  sight  the  beams  and  rafters  of  the  adjoining 
floor,  and  every  precaution  had  been  used  to  conceal  the  fact 
of  the  building  being  occupied. 

On  the  present  occasion,  a  meagre  fire  was  smoking  upon 
the  extensive  hearthstone,  the  vapors  of  which — the  chimney 
having  been,  for  obvious  reasons,  choked  up  so  as  to  be  use- 
less— were  floating  at  random  about  the  room,  or  vault;  and, 
on  heaps  of  straw,  and  discolored  rags  of  every  hue  which  lay 
scattered  around,  several  wretched  and  emaciated  beings, 
seemingly  in  the  last  stage  of  some  foul  disease,  but  in  reality 
in  the  best  of  preservation,  were  outstretched.  A  rough  table 
occupied  the  centre  of  this  den,  at  which  were  seated  several 
women,  and  a  man  whose  whole  appearance  shows  that  he  is 
a  character,  and  renders  him  well  worthy  a  brief  description. 

The  latter  is  comfortably  clad,  although  every  one  around  is 
in  rags.  But  the  great  feature  in  his  attire  is  the  combina- 
tion of  colors  which  it  presents.  No  tw«  articles  of  his  apparel 
are  alike,  although  red  is  the  predominating  color  in  each. 
Even  his  hair  is  red.  His  neckerchief  is  red,  also,  and  con- 
tains sufficient  stuff  for  a  tolerably  sized  shawl.  Shirt  collars 

fll 


LIFE     AMONG    THE    "  UNDER-CURRENT."  105 

he  disdains  as  an  unnecessary  and  womanish  luxury;  and, 
over  all,  he  wears  a  light,  blue  overcoat,  of  some  shaggy  and 
coarse  material.  Add  to  all  this  a  white  hat  of  tolerably 
ancient  appearance,  surrounded  by  a  narrow  band  of  tarnish- 
ed crape ;  a  pair  of  high  and  very  ragged  boots,  drawn  over 
the  trowsers ;  a  couple  of  small,  luminous  eyes ;  and  a  large, 
expressive  mouth,  surrounded  by  a  perfect  forest  of  beard,  of 
the  same  color  as  the  hair,  and  the  inventory  is  complete. 

It  is  some  credit  for  us  to  say  that  this  rascal,  although 
well-known  as  a  public  character  in  this  section  of  the  coun- 
try, is  not  a  plant  of  indigenous  growth — having  some  years 
since  disappeared  suddenly  from  the  neighborhood  of  Bow 
Bells,  where  he  first  vegetated,  owing  to  the  frequency  with 
which  his  name  had  been  kept  before  the  public  in  his  native 
land.  Of  his  career  on  this  side  the  water  it  is  only  necessary 
to  say,  that  his  manner  of  living  had  not  done  discredit  to  his 
bringing  up.  Half  the  villanies  perpetrated  in  the  commu- 
nity might,  with  safety,  be  laid  at  his  door,  and  no  vagabond 
within  the  city  possessed  so  much  power  to  do  evil,  or  so 
much  influence  with  the  police,  as  FLINT  :  for  fortune  had 
played  him,  too,  a  slippery  trick.  Detected  as  a  fence,  and  a 
receiver  of  stolen  goods,  the  fellow,  after  serving  a  brief  time 
at  the  "  island,"  had  been  released,  to  consort  once  more  with 
those  whose  misdeeds  he  had  before  made  a  livelihood  by 
screening. 

A  short  pipe  was  firmly  clasped  between  this  gentleman's 
teeth  at  the  moment  of  his  introduction  to  the  reader,  and  a 
atick,  which  would  answer  the  purpose  of  a  cane  or  cudgel,  as 

5* 


VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     OF    THE    CITT. 

occasion  might  dicate,  lay  peaceably  before  him  upon  the 
table.  Two  of  the  women  that  surrounded  him  were  young 
and  pretty,  notwithstanding  that  the  miserable  garments  in 
which  they  were  clad  deprived  their  looks  of  every  vestige  of 
the  human  being ;  the  rest  were  ugly  and  old,  or  lame,  and, 
by  their  ceaseless  chattering,  managed  to  keep  up  between 
them  a  constant  confusion.  Over  the  fire  sat  an  old  crone, 
clad  like  th^  rest,  whose  withered  and  bony  hands  clutched  a 
staff,  which  she  was  obliged  to  cling  to  for  support,  and  a  few 
locks  of  silvery  hair  creeping  from  the  tattered  cap  she  wore, 
and  flowing  unconfined  down  her  back,  gave  her,  in  conjunc- 
tion with  her  wild  attire,  a  witch-like  and  supernatural 
appearance. 

"  Hush,  ye  fools  !"  exclaimed  this  ancient  anatomy,  as  the 
uproar  increased,  so  as  to  rival  in  volume  the  roaring  of  the 
blast  without — "  carft  one  whom  ye  should  all  honor  and 
respect  enjoy  a  little  respite  from  her  troubles,  undisturbed  by 
your  infernal  orgies  ?  If  ye  must  make  merry,  go  out  into 
the  orchard,  yonder,  and  you'll  find  fit  companions  for  your 
revels,  in  the  fiends  that  are  howling  above  our  heads  while 
I'm  speaking." 

"  Reafly,  mother,  you  are  too  strong  in  your  expressions," 
retorted  the  sensitive  Mr.  Flint,  in  behalf  of  his  companions. 
"  You  deal  in  such  unpleasant  figures,  that  one  dreams  of  nothing 
but  apple  trees  turning  into  hobgoblins,  and  shovels  and 
tongs  dancing  of  hornpipes,  by  his  bedside  o'  nights !  It  '11 
all  end  in  your  ruinin'  our  nerves,  whereby  we  shall  become 
unfit  for  our  profession,  and  then  what'll  we  do  ? — we  shall 


LIFE     AMONG    THE     "  UN'DER-CURREXT."  107 

be  obliged  to  turn  honest,  and  disgrace  our  cloth,  in  spite  of 
ourselves.  There's  a  picture  for  you." 

The  lachrymose,  half-serious  tone  in  which  Mr.  Flint 
delivered  this  piece  of  -wit,  occasioned  such  a  roar  of  laugh- 
ter, that  it  half  awoke  the  sleepers,  lying  miscellaneously 
around,  and  a  volley  of  oaths  and  imprecations  followed. 
The  old  crone  partially  aroused  herself  from  her  reverie  over 
the  fire,  and  growled  out  something  about  some  people  want- 
ing rest  as  well  as  others,  and  who  knew  what  Mr.  Sawyer, 
himself,  might  one  day  come  to ;  and  then  relapsed  into  the 
brown  study  from  which  she  had  been  aroused. 

"  Mother  Peg  would  be  a  natural  blessing  to  some  humane 
society,"  said  Mr.  Flint,  transferring  his  gaze  from  the  old 
crone  to  the  group  by  whom  he  was  surrounded ;  "  her  con- 
duct is  sometimes  so  very  affecting,"  Here  he  pretended  to 
"  wipe  away  a  tear,"  with  a  handkerchief  such  as  we  are 
accustomed  to  see  used  by  a  certain  Robert  Macaire  upon  the 

mimic  stage. 

• 
"  Hypocrite ! "  growled  the  hag  between  her  clenched  teeth. 

"But  you  see  my  sensitiveness  arn't  at  all  appreciated,"  he 
continued,  alluding  to  the  last  remark  of  Mother  Peg.  "  My 
sweetness  is  wasted  upon  the  deserted  air — to  quote  from  a 
popular  poet — but  I  don't  complain ;  it's  the  reward  of  the 
virtuous,  and  why  should  Timothy  Flint  be  made  an  excep- 
tion ? " 

A  general  laugh  followed  this  little  piece  of  moralizing, 
which  was  interrupted,  however,  by  a  peculiar  knock  upon  the 
flooring  overhead,  followed  by  a  low  whistle;  then  succeeded 


108 


the  trampling  of  feet,  and  the  countenances  of  the  lawless 
crew  assembled  in  that  desolate  den  grew  pale  with  doubt 
and  apprehension. 

"  Why  don't  you  undo  the  hatches,  some  of  you  ?" 
exclaimed  Flint,  who,  of  all  the  crew,  appeared  undisturbed 
by  the  interruption.  "  It's  only  cue  of  our  fellows  with  some 
new  acquaintances." 

But  no  one  stirred. 

"Why,  what  has  got  into  you  all?"  shouted  Flint,  in  a 
sudden  passion.  "  Must  your  captain  give  orders  and  execute 
'em,  too  ?  Here's  a  pretty  set  o'  cowards  for  you ! "  And 
with  such  expressions,  Flint  put  his  clumsy  figure  in  motion, 
and  withdrew  a  couple  of  bars,  which  served  as  fasten- 
ings to  the  door  of  the  cellar,  or  den.  The  moment  he  had 
done  so,  and  before  he  could  find  time  to  ask  a  question,  two 
great  clumsy  shoes,  yellow  with  mud,  with  the  toes,  like  a 
family  of  blighted  small  potatoes,  sticking  out  of  each,  hastily 
made  their  appearance  at  the  trap,  followed  by  a  brace  of 
legs,  the  upper  portion  of  which  were  encased  in  a  pair  of 
corduroy  trowsers,  covered  with  patches,  and  kept  together  by 
numerous  pieces  of  string,  giving  the  proprietor  an  appear- 
ance quite  a  Tarlequin.  These  evidences  of  civilization 
were  as  quickly  followed  by  a  dirty  red  shirt  and  a  garment 
very  like  unto  a  cartman's  frock — and  this  ill-assorted  mass 
being  placed,  at  last,  upright  upon  the  table,  there  stood  con- 
fessed an  individual,  the  scarlet  brilliancy  of  whose  complexion, 
flanked  by  plenty  of  carrotty  hair  (a  circumstance  which 
had  led  Mr.  Flint,  in  the  exuberance  of  bis  wit,  to  remark 


LIFE     AMOXO     THE     "  UXDER-CURRENT."  109 

that  his  associate  grew  his  own  hemp,  with  a  view  to  future 
contingencies),  left  no  doubt  upon  the  mind  of  the  beholder 
as  to  the  identity  of  the  individual.  It  was  Job — Flint's 
collector. 

In  his  case,  virtue  had  been  emphatically  "its  own  reward," 
for  the  sorry  plight  in  which  we  find  him  is  proof  that  he  has 
not  yet  made  a  fortune  on  the  strength  of  his  master's 
liberality. 

"  It  is  you,  is  it  ?"  exclaimed  Flint,  bestowing  upon  the  legs 
of  the  ill-used  Job  a  kick  that  caused  that  gentleman  to«com- 
mence  rubbing  his  extremes  with  renewed  vigor ;  "  a  pretty 
fright  you've  given  us  !  Who's  that  you've  got  with  you  ? 
Why  don't  you  answer,  you  carrot  ?"  he  added,  savagely,  and 
before  the  unhappy  Job  could  open  his  mouth,  there  came 
another  kick  to  keep  the  company  of  the  other. 

"  Gentleman — hurt — not  dangerous,"  gasped  Job,  drawing 
to  a  greater  distance,  and  keeping  a  wary  eye  on  his  master's 
shoes.  $ 

"And  so,"  said  Flint,  "you  brought  him  here  that  his 
family  might  offer  a  reward  for  him,  and  be  the  means  of 
bringing  us  up  before  our  agreeable  friend  and  gentle  monitor, 
Jimmy  Welsh — hey  2" 

He  made  another  furious  plunge  at  Job,  but  the  latter 
dodged  it  a  fa  Gabriel  Havel,  and  Flint's  toes  came  in  violent 
contact  with  the  wall. 

"  Oh  !  you're  a  precious  one  ! "  he  gasped,  looking  fiercely 
at  Job ;  "  a  nice  pupil  you  are  to  come  from  the  hands  of 
Timothy  Flint,  who  took  you  when  you  was  penniless  and 


110  VIOLET,   THE    GUILD    OF   THE    CITT. 

.*" 

friendless,  and  gave  you  the  rudiments  of  an  edication — even 
bringing  you  as  far  in  history  as  the  life  of  '  Jack  Shephard,' 
and  the  '  Adventures  of  Murrell,  the  Land  Pirate  ' — and  this 
is  the  return.  Catch,  me  taking  you  to  the  Chatham 
theater  to  see  Mose  again,  or  learning  you  to  prig  a  han'- 
kercher,  that's  all !" 

"  Please,  sir,"  said  Job,  deferentially,  and  with  tears  in  his 
eyes  ;  "  I  don't  think  you'd  so  blame  me,  if  you  knew  all 
sir,  I  don't.  May  I  tell  you  how  it  happened,  sir  ?" 

"  Yes,  and  be  quick  about  it,"  growled  the  indignant  chief, 
relighting  his  pipe,  which  had  gone  out  during  his  late 
extemporaneous  harrangue. 

"  Well,  sir,  you  see,  the  how  it  came  about  is  this :  Me  and 
Gaby  Temple — you  know  Gaby,  sir  ?" 

"  Is  he  '  one  of  our  set  ?' "  asked  Flint,  abstractedly. 

"  Oh  !  regular — out  and  out — picks  a  pocket  to  admiration 
— is  the  adoration  of  the  ladies  at  the  P'ints." 

This  allusion  to  Mr.  Gaby  Temple's  favor  among  the  women 
displeased  Mr.  Flint,  who  could  brook  no  rivalry  in  that 
quarter,  and  therefore  replied  rather  curtly  : 

"  Hem !  I  may  know  such  a  fellow  ;  but  proceed." 

. "  Well,   sir,   Gaby   and   I  was   a  passin'  along  the  

avenue,  a  little  arter  dark,  discussing  the  topics  of  the  day 
and  forming  a  plan  how  we  should  be  able  to  give  in  sub- 
scribers for  the  Criminal  Recorder — which  I,  sir,  looks  upon 
as  a  highly  creditable  effusion  ;  the  organ,  I  may  say,  of  our 
peculiar  society — when  we  heard  some  one  hollow,  loud  at 
first,  but  then  subsidin'  into  groans.  '  Gaby,'  says  I,  '  here's 


LIFE     AMONG     THE     "  UNDER-CURRENT."  Ill 

somebody  as  has  hurt  bis-self  bad.'  '  I  think  so,  too,'  says 
Gaby.  So  off  we  starts ;  and,  arter  much  pokin'  and 
searchin',  we  found  a  gentleman  up  to  his  armpits  in  bricks 
and  mortar,  just  where  the  old  sewer,  you  know —  " 

"  Hush  !"  whispered  Flint,  with  a  peculiar  expression  of 
the  eyes,  and  his  finger  pressed  upon  his  lip. 

"  Well — anyhow,"  continued  Job,  getting  somewhat  bewild- 
ered by  being  thus  cut  down  in  his  argument,  "  the  gentleman 
had  been  wandering  about,  seemingly  in  a  very  precarious 
state  o'  mind,  and  had  fell  into  this  hole — as  if  he'd  been 
lookin'  for  it  on  purpose — and  there  we  found  him.  At  first 
we  was  going  to  content  ourselves  with  the  money  we  found  on 
him." 

"Money — ha!"  said  Mr.  Flint,  brightening  up  at  the 
sound. 

"But  Gaby  said  a  reward  might  be  offered,  and  no  one 
would  ever  think  of  looking  here,  and  a  good  spec'  might  be 
made  out  of  it,  and — and  so  we  brought  him  to  the  crib.  And 
s'help  me  Moses,  if  we'd  a  thought  it  would  a'  been  so  offen- 
sive to  such  a  person  as  Mr.  Flint,  whom  we  all  venerates — " 

"  Say  no  more,  Job,  you  are  forgiven ;  you've  been  a  good 
boy,  Job,  and  I'll  see  you  rewarded.  But,  goodness  gracious ! 
boys,  what  are  you  all  about  ?  a  gentleman  dangerously  hurt, 
and  claiming  our  hospitality,  to  be  left  shivering  in  the  cold, 
at  such  a  crisis  !  Come — be  alive,  there  !  Huddle  up  your 
rags,  you  pack  of  lazy  vagabonds,  and  vamose  elsewhere. 
What  are  you  staring  at,  Job  ?  Where's  your  humanity,  that 
you  don't  help  the  unfortunate  gentleman  down  ?  Poor  fel- 


112  VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     OF    THB     CITT. 

low  !  my  heart  bleeds  for  him  !  the  father  of  a  family,  I  dare 
say,  with  ever  so  many  children  at  home,  weeping  and 
wailing  for  their  benefactor  !"  and  Job  being  somewhat  slow 
in  his  movements,  Mr.  Flint  concluded  this  affecting  perora- 
tion with  another  kick. 

The  alacrity  with  which  the  ill-used  shins  and  the  ten 
blighted  small  potatoes  disappeared  up  the  trap  was  quite  as 
wonderful  in  its  way  as  many  of  the  most  inexplicable 
manoeuvres  of  Herr  Alexandra  himself;  and  in  a  few  minutes, 
a  bent-up  figure,  apparently  that  of  a  man  somewhat  advanced 
in  years,  and  clad  in  a  black  suit  of  ordinary  material — his 
face  as  well  as  his  shirt-bosom  covered  with  blood — was  handed 
down,  followed  by  a  young  girl,  and  by  the  individual  designated 
as  Gaby  Temple,  a  person  like  Job,  very  muddy,  very  ragged, 
and  very  retiring.  The  round,  full  moon  visage  of  Job  him- 
self was  next  seen  peering,  with  commendable  caution,  through 
the  trap,  and  finding  the  attention  of  his  preceptor,  at  that 
moment,  occupied  in  another  quarter,  he  slid  down  with  the 
same  eel-like  alacrity  that  he  had  exhibited  in  ascending,  pulled 
the  trap  after  him,  barred  it  as  before,  and  retreated  to  hold  a 
conversation  with  his  friend  Gaby,  in  an  opposite  corner. 

The  unwonted  bustle  aroused  the  hag,  who  turned  towards 
the  group  that  was  bearing  the  figure  of  the  old  man  to  a  heap 
of  rags  near  the  fire. 

"  More  sinister  doings — more  crime  !"  she  mumbled,  address- 
ing herself  particularly  to  Joe.  "  Ah !  you  smile  now,  and 
think  it  all  very  fine — but  I  tell  ye,  the  day  is  not  far  distant 
when  you'll  rue  these  doings — ay,  to  your  hearts'  cores,  ye  will !" 


LIFE     AMONO    THE     "  UNDER-CURRENT.1*  113 

Then,  hobbling  up  to  them,  with  the  assistance  of  her  staff 
she  separated  the  group,  who  seemed  to  stand  in  great  awe  of 
her,  and  gazed  earnestly  into  the  stranger's  countenance. 

"  A  miracle  !"  she  almost  shouted ;  "  rejoice  with  me, 
rejoice  !  there  shall  shortly  be  weeping  and  wailing  where  all 
is  enjoyment  and  mirth  !" 

The  crowd  shrank  back  at  the  woman's  unwonted  energy 
and  mysterious  manner.  Even  Flint  was  for  the  moment  awed 
and  confounded. 

"  Where — where  am  I !"  asked  the  stranger,  feebly,  as  the 
woman  aided  to  stretch  him  on  a  mattress  provided  for  him 
by  the  others. 

"  Among  friends,  sir,  in  spite  of  all  you  see  around  you," 
replied  the  woman,  encouragingly. 

"  Who,  then,  are  you  ?"  he  asked,  peering  into  her  counte- 
nance with  a  look  of  partial  intelligence. 

"  Walter  Lyle,"  she  answered,  "  you  do  not  know  me ;  and 
had  our  circumstances  not  made  us  equals  at  last,  you  never 
should.  Don't  you  remember,  Walter,  poor  Edith  Gray  ?" 

"  Edith  Gray !"  he  returned,  in  amazement  "  Can  it  be 
possible  ?" 

"  Yes  !  You  think  it  strange,  Walter  Lyle,  that  the  proud 
girl  you  courted  can  have  stooped  so  low  at  last,  but  it  is  so. 
I  refused  your  honest  suit  for  the  advantages  of  a  rich  husband 
and  a  brave  town  life,  and  this  is  what  has  come  of  it !" 

Lyle  (for  it  was  he  that,  clad  in  a  suit  procured  by  the 
money  bestowed  on  Violet  by  the  gentle  Alice,  had  fallen  in 
the  increasing  darknesfe  into  one  of  the  man-traps  left  by  some 


114  VIOLET,   THE     CHILD     OF    THE     CUT. 

careless  contractor  on  the  road),  gazed  with  an  interest  which 
•was  all  the  stronger  from  the  similarity  of  their  experience  in 
the  pursuit  of  the  gilded  bubble,  upon  the  wretched  creature 
before  him.  And  yet  Edith  Gray  was  by  no  means  a  solitary 
instance,  but  only  one  out  of  a  large  number  of  unfortunates, 
for  the  rescue  of  whose  souls,  as  well  as  their  bodies, 
charity  has  heretofore  made  little  or  no  provision.  Strange 
thoughts  came  into  the  head  of  the  ruined  man  as  he  gazed 
upon  her.  He  little  knew  how  strangely  he  himself  had  alter- 
ed. The  most  intimate  of  his  old  acquaintance  would  hardly 
have  recognised  him,  had  it  not  been  for  the  slight  but  ill- 
clad  figure  that  bent  over  him  as  he  lay,  smoothing  the  scanty 
locks  on  his  furrowed  brow,  and  doing  everything  in  her 
power  to  render  him  comfortable.  It  was  Violet — now,  as 
ever,  ministering  to  the  wants  of  her  aged  parent  with  an 
assiduity  which  no  amount  of  misery  could  overcome  :  feed- 
ing him,  tending  him,  and,  in  the  best  way  that  she  could, 
making  easy  his  lonely  passage  to  the  grave. 

The  poor  fellow,  it  appears,  had  been  found  by  some  of  the 
vagrant  crew  among  whom  his  fate  had  now  thrown  him, 
lying  in  a  state  of  exhaustion  by  the  side  of  the  road,  attended 
only  by  the  child,  who  was  in  a  condition  but  little  removed 
from  his  own.  Outcasts  as  their  preservers  were  from  that  soci- 
ety whose  laws  they  had  banded  together  to  outrage,  they  had 
still  too  much  humanity  to  leave  a  fellow-creature  to  perish  in 
such  a  plight,  and  they  accordingly  had  transferred  him  to  their 
den,  as  we  have  seen.  Even  here  a  question  arose  as  to 
whether  it  would  be  safe  to  receive  him,  but  the  sight  of 


LIFE     AMONG    THE     "  UNDER-CURRENT."  115 

Violet,  who  seemed,  in  her  rapt  attention  to  her  father, 
totally  unconscious  of  the  presence  of  strangers,  and  whose 
devotion  threw  about  her  scantily  attired  form  a  halo  that 
transformed  her  into  a  ministering  angel,  disarmed  the 
unfriendly  thought,  and  they  were  suffered  to  remain. 

Neither  Flint  nor  Job  had  the  slightest  remembrance  of 
Lyle  or  his  daughter,  their  only  interview  having  been  of  but 
few  minutes'  duration  ;  and  the  money  given  to  Lyle  by  Vio- 
let, amounting  to  only  a  few  shillings,  having  been  handed 
over  to  Flint,  those  two  worthies  put  their  heads  together  to 
consider  what  it  was  best  to  do  under  the  circumstances — cal- 
culating that,  at  the  least,  he  had  some  friends  who  would  not 
see  him  suffer,  and  who  would  reward  them  for  their 
kindness. 


-TV"  Vff 


~tn  friiw 
fi'oS     .raw*  ot  nohmtt* 


116  VIOLET,   THE    CHILD     OF    THH    CITT. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

BETTER   PROSPECTS. 

SOME  weeks  passed  in  this  way,  and,  with  the  assistance  of 
the  rabble  crew  among  whom  he  had  fallen,  Lyle  grew  daily 
stronger  and  better.  The  impossibility  of  obtaining  liquor 
was  the  principal  agent  in  his  recovery,  for  there  can  be  no 
doubt  that,  had  he  possessed  the  means  wherewith  to  con- 
tinue his  strong  potations,  he  must  have  died  long  since. 

As  she  saw  him  hourly  acquiring  fresh  strength,  the  hopes 
of  little  Violet  grew  stronger  also.  She  no  longer  thought 
of  death,  and  a  thousand  possibilities  even  worse  than  death, 
but  a  ray  of  light  began  to  color  the  cloudy  horizon  of  the 
future. 

"  The  lady,"  she  mused,  "  who  helped  me  on  the  night  of 
the  snow  storm,  when  I  went  out  to  look  for  food,  told  me 
her  name  was  Alice,  and  that  if  I  would  come  to  her  when 
we  were  again  in  distress  she  would  do  her  best  to  relieve  us. 
Oh  !  if  my  angel  mother  could  have  seen  her  as  I  lay  upon 
her  breast,"  thought  Violet,  whose  eyes  filled  with  tears  at 
the  recollection. 

Some  impatient  movement  of  her  father  caused  her  to 
transfer  her  attention  to  him.  He  had  partly  raised  himself 
from  the  bed  or  bundle  of  straw  on  which  he  had  been 


BETTER    PROSPECTS.  11 7 

stretched,  and  with  his  head  pressed  on  his  hand,  was  regard- 
ing her  with  an  expression  of  countenance  so  unusual  to  him 
— for  there  was  a  look  of  brightness  in  it — that  Violet  almost 
uttered  a  cry  of  joy. 

She  ran  to  him  instantly. 

"  You  are  better  now,  dear  father :  you  are  almost  well," 
she  said,  eagerly. 

"I  shall  never  be  a  well  man  again,  my  sweet  child," 
he  replied,  sadly,  "but  to  see  a  smile  upon  your  poor  faded 
countenance,  so  unlike  the  countenance  of  a  girl,  makes  me 
feel  for  the  moment  twenty  years  younger.  Do  you,  my  poor 
Violet,  know  how  rarely  it  is  that  you  smile  2" 

"  I  will  smile  always,  if  it  will  only  make  you  well,"  she 
answered,  hopefully.  "  But  I  was  thinking  of  something  to 
make  me  smile,  dearest  father." 

"  Pleasant  thoughts  are,  by  this  time,  strangers  to  both  of 
us,"  said  Lyle,  taking  her  tenderly  by  the  hand.  "  Of  what 
was  it  you  were  thinking,  Violet  ?" 

"Only  this.  You  recollect  my  telling  you  of  the  lady 
who  gave  me  the  so-much-needed  assistance  not  many 
nights  ago,  when  you  was  almost  starving  in  the 
garret  ?" 

"  I  shall  never  forget  her,"  replied  Lyle,  with  an  energy  he 
had  not  seemed  to  possess.  "  For  her  kindness  to  my  daugh- 
ter God  will  bless  her." 

u  Well,"  proceeded  Violet,  "  she  told  me  on  that  occasion 
that  if  I  ever  happened  to  want  assistance  again,  either  for 
myself  or  my  father,  I  should  go  to  her ;  and  that  is  what  I 


118  VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     OF     THE     CHT. 

am  about  to  do  now,  to  seek  her  once  more,  and  ask  her  to 
help  me  to  employment.  Oh !  father — if  I  can  only  accom- 
plish that,  we  may  pillow  our  heads  once  more  under  the 
roof  that  first  gave  me  shelter." 

"  Such  a  picture  shall  not  be  spoiled  by  my  interference. 
Whatever  I  may  think  of  it,  you  shall  go,  and  may  God,  for 
your  own  sake,  speed  you." 

The  alacrity  with  which  the  really  happy  girl  departed, 
filled  with  the  high  hope  which  had  newly  animated  her 
breast,  and  now  made  her  something  like  a  woman  in  more 
than  the  mere  appearance  (for  with  the  new  idea  she  seemed 
to  have  grown  older),  was  a  good  evidence  of  her 
earnestness. 

"If  such  a  thing  might  be  possible,"  thought  the  ruined 
man  to  himself;  "  but,  no,"  and  the  momentary  brightness  of 
his  aspect  faded — "  life's  struggles  are  too  nearly  past  with 
me  to  hope  for  such  a  termination  of  my  wanderings.  I 
•will  only  pray  that  God  may  do  for  my  poor  Violet  what  my 
own  errors  forbid  that  He  should  do  for  me." 

With  a  new  feeling  throbbing  at  her  heart  and  kindling  in 
her  eye  (it  was  the  first  time  that  she  had  looked  forward  to 
the  future  with  any  other  emotions  than  those  of  dread),  Violet 
•went  lightly  on  her  way  to  the  proud  mansion  of  the  Bene- 
dicks. The  weather  was  still  very  cold,  and  the  wind,  which 
blew  her  threadbare  garments  about  her  so  fiercely  as  almost 
to  impede  her  progress,  was  laden  with  a  searching  dampness 
which  went  to  the  very  bone,  but  the  heroic  child  heeded  it 
not.  There  was  warmth  enough  in  the  little  heart  that 


BETTER    PROSPECTS.  119 

palpitated  so  strongly  beneath  her  shawl,  to  enable  her  to 
disregard  the  inclemency  of  the  weather.  Before  she  reached 
the  dwelling  of  the  Benedicks  (which  she  so  well — only  too 
well  remembered)  a  slight  cough  had  set  in,  but  that  did  not 
trouble  her.  In  fact,  she  was  so  full  of  her  father's  reforma- 
tion, and  her  plans  for  the  future,  that  she  did  not  notice  it. 

Violet  had  pictured  the  .gentle  Alice  to  herself,  in  her 
innocence,  as  the  mistress  of  the  mansion,  with  Heaven 
knows  how  many  mines  of  wealth  at  her  command,  and  she 
•was  therefore  not  a  little  astonished  when  she  was  directed  by 
a  proud  servant,  echoing  the  orders  of  his  mistress,  to  the 
kitchen  door. 

Mrs.  Benedick  had  observed  from  afar  the  coming  of 
Violet,  and  •  before  the  latter  had  drawn  near  she  had 
conceived  an  aversion  for  the  poorly  clad,  helpless  thing.  But 
when  she  saw  her  approach  and  timidly  ascend  her  own 
front  steps ;  when  she  heard  her  with  her  own  hand  actually 
ring  her  bell,  her  soul  swelled  big  within  her  at  the  audacity 
of  the  "  thing." 

"  Some  of  that  Mistress  Alice's  acquaintance,  I  suppose  !" 
she  muttered  to  herself,  as  she  gave  her  footman  the  order 
which  he  had  just  so  pompously  imparted  to  Violet.  "  I 
really  must  put  a  stop  to  this  sort  of  business." 

What  will  the  reader  think,  when  we  tell  him  that  Mrs. 
Benedick  was  one  ^of  the  leading  "  officers,"  as  they  call 
themselves,  of  a  lady's  charitable  association,  and  that  her 
contributions  to  its  fund,  though  small,  it  is  true,  and  quarterly 


120  VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     OF    THE    CITY. 

blazoned  forth  to  the  world  opposite  her  name  in  a  finely 
printed  circular,  were  not  few  or  far  between  ! 

The  warmth  of  her  reception  by  Alice  made  up  for  tho 
pompous  insolence  of  the  bloated  footman,  and  Violet  had 
soon  unfolded  to  her  friend  the  simple  but  affecting  history  of 
her  little  life. 

"  Poor  child  !"  said  Alice,  when  Violet  had  concluded, 
"  what  a  life  of  suffering  must  have  been  yours.  I  had 
thought  mine  bad  enough ;  but  a  bed  and  a  comfortable 
home  has  always  been  mine,  and  I  have  slept  many  a  night 
in  peace  while  you  were  wandering  the  streets,  perishing  from 
starvation  and  cold." 

"I  ought  not  to  have  told  you  so  much,"  said  Violet, 
perceiving  that  her  companion's  eyes  were  glistening  with 
tears.  "I  see  that  my  story  has  given  you  pain." 

"  It  is  a  good  feeling,  though  a  sad  one,  my  sweet  little 
sister,"  replied  the  gentle  Alice,  caressing  her  and  arranging 
the  scattered  locks  upon  her  forehead,  where  the  wind  had  so 
tossed  them  about  that  she  looked  like  a  second  Madge 
Wildfire.  "  But  there  is  time  enough  ahead  to  make  amends 
for  all.  You  shall  go  with  me  to  Mrs.  Arthur — a  friend  of 
mine,  who  is  not  a  stranger  to  such  matters,  and  we  will  see 
what  can  be  done  to  render  your  condition  and  that  of  your 
father  more  comfortable.  But  first  we  must  go  and  see 
him." 

"  Is — is  Mrs.  Arthur  rich  ?"  asked  Violet^  with  hesitating 
timidity. 


BETTER     PROSPECTS.  '121 

**  Yes,  dear  child  ;  why  do  you  ask  ?" 

"  Oh,  nothing;  only  rich  people  don't  generally  like  to  be 
troubled  with  such  as  us,  and — and  I've  seen  so  many  dark 
looks,  that  I'd  rather  not  see  any  more,  if  you  please,  Miss." 

"  But  Mrs.  Arthur,  my  dear,  is  not  like  some  wealthy 
people.  It  is  there  that  a  great  mistake  is  often  made.  The 
possession  of  wealth  does  not  debar  us  from  the  indulgence 
of  our  humane  tendencies ;  and  there  are  many  who  are 
devoting  all  their  leisure  time  and  much  of  their  spare  means 
to  the  relief  of  their  less  fortunate  fellow-beings." 

Mrs.  Arthur  was  all  that  Alice  had  said  of  her,  and  more. 
Highly  accomplished,  in  the  fullest  sense  of  the  term,  and 
blessed  with  a  handsome  fortune,  and  a  family  as  different 
from  that  of  .the  Benedicks  as  can  well  be  imagined,  she 
passed  a  great  part  of  her  time  in  the  concerting  of  measures 
for  the  relief  of  the  poor.  Although  adults  claimed  a  con- 
siderable share  of  her  attention,  however,  it  was  mainly  to  the 
bringing  up  of  the  indigent  children  of  the  city  that  her  efforts 
were  directed.  For  Mrs.  Arthur  well  knew  that  to  be  of  any 
permanent  use,  the  culture  of  the  mind  must  be  attended  to 
;us  well  as  that  of  the  body,  and  that  the  cure  could  only  be 
made  radical  in  the  case  of  the  young.  There  can  be  not  the 
slightest  doubt  that  if  children  were  always  trained  as  they 
should  be,  poverty  and  vice  would  be  comparatively  unknown, 
and  we  should  not  have  our  attention  periodically  called  to  the 
spectacle  of  a  church-going  and  highly  Christianized  com- 
munity professing  to  follow  the  doctrines  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth, 
but  practically  ignoring  him  in  their  every  day  life. 


122  VIOLET,    THE    CHILD    OF   THE    CITT. 

la  company  with  Violet,  Alice  took  her  way  to  the  resi- 
dence of  Mrs.  Arthur,  who  gladly  consented  to  accompany 
them  to  the  place  where  Mr.  Lyle  had  found  shelter,  and 
where  his  wants  had  been  kindly  supplied. 

The  arrival  of  so  distinguished  a  visitor  caused  an  unusual 
excitement  in  the  place.  The  guests,  one  and  all,  previously 
seated  in  a  carouse,  it  would  seem,  around  an  old  pine  table, 
scrambled  out  of  the  way  into  hidden  nooks  and  corners, 
while  the  keeper  of  the  place  took  a  position  in  front  of  the 
doorway,  and,  without  taking  his  pipe  from  his  mouth,  or  his 
arms  from  behind  his  back,  spread  himself  as  far  apart  as  he 
could  to  prevent  their  further  advance. 

"  Hallo !"  he  said  at  last  to  Violet — "  Who  are  these  you've 
got  with  you  ?  If  it's  tracts,  your  friend  may  as  well  be  off 
with  herself.  We're  all  Sassenachs  here." 

"  I  was  afraid  it  would  be  so,"  said  Violet,  bursting  into 
tears,  and  clinging  to  the  skirts  of  Alice's  dress,  in  a  violent 
tremor. 

"  What  noise  is  that  ?"  asked  Lyle,  suddenly  waking. 
"  My  child's  voice !  Who  dares  offer  harm  to  her  in  my 
presence  ?" 

"  There  is  nothing  to  fear,"  said  Alice,  undismayed  by  the 
looks  of  the  place  and  the  character  of  the  inmates.  "  I 
came  here  simply  upon  an  act  of  charity,  and  will  only 
trouble  you  for  a  few  moments." 

"Violet,"  muttered  Lyle,  crimsoning  with  shame,  "you 
might  have  spared  me  this. !" 


BETTER     PROSPECTS.  123 

But  Mrs.  Arthur's  gentle  and  unobtrusive  manner,  which 
made  it  appear  as  though  she  was  about  to  receive  instead  of 
confer  a  favor,  soon  put  Mr.  Lyle  at  his  ease.  She  knew  a  good 
mechanic,  she  said — a  poor  weaver,  who  wanted  help  and 
would  gladly  teach  Lyle  his  trade  and  see  to  his  maintenance 
in  return  for  such  aid  as  he  might  render.  The  only  qualifi- 
cations, required  were  industry  and  sobriety,  and  with  this 
little  capital  Mr.  Lyle  might  make  a  fresh  start  in  life.  She 
talked  so  encouragingly  that  the  broken  man  felt  a  new  spirit 
— a  fresh  energy  dawning  within  him.  The  inertia  which 
had  so  long  taken  possession  of  him  seemed  falling  like  an 
old  garment  from  his  limbs.  As  long  as  she  remained  he  lis- 
tened with  respectful  attention  to  what  his  benefactress  had  to 
say,  and  it  was  only  when  her  gentle  form  had  retreated,  in 
company  with  his  child,  that  he  gave  any  signs  of  relaxing. 
Then  the  poor  man  lowered  his  head  upon  his  breast  and 
wept  convulsively. 

Strange  as  it  may  seem,  all  the  inmates  of  the  wretched 
hovel  seemed  to  have  felt  the  influence  of  Mrs.  Arthur's  visit 
— an  influence  which  she  strengthened  by  the  conferring  of 
something  more  than  mere  word-sympathies.  It  was  as  if  an 
angel  had  been  among  them,  and  the  ray  of  sunshine  that 
came  in  with  her  remained  among  them  long  after  she  had 
vanished. 

Lyle,  shortly  after  the  departure  of  Mrs.  Arthur,  had  fallen 
asleep — into  a  slumber  such  as  he  had  not  known  for  many 
years — and,  in  dreams,  he  saw  again  the  Old  Homestead 
and  its  cheerful  fireside,  with  all  the  manifold  delights  which 


124  VIOLET,   THK     CHILD     OF    THE    ClTf. 

had  of  old  encompassed  it     The  golden  sun  which  rises  the 
next  morning  upon  the  desolate  hovel  on  the  common  wit 

nesses  the  going  forth  from  it  of  a  new  being  I 

*  *      •„        >  *  * 

Two  years  have  passed  away  since  the  gentle  form  of 
Mrs.  Arthur  was  found  ministering  to  the  comforts  of  the 
Lyles,  and  already  a  change  is  visible  in  their  circumstances. 
Violet,  guided  by  the  friendly  counsels  of  her  friend  Alice, 
has  wonderfully  improved  in  all  respects.  Tidily  dressed  in 
clothes  purchased  by  her  own  earnings,  and  made  up  by  her 
own  ingenious  hands,  she  is  quite  a  model  of  feminine  come- 
liness and  neatness.  Her  face  has  lost  its  old  look  of  care 
and  anxiety,  and  an  unprejudiced  observer  who  had  never 
seen  her  before  would  even  have  pronounced  her  handsome. 
Her  father  has  been  steadily  employed  at  the  old  weaver's 
since  the  day  of  his  rescue  by  Alice,  and  though  very  poor, 
and  not  over  elegant  in  his  dress,  he  still  looks  cheerful  and 
contented.  They  both  have  lodgings  in  a  homely  but  com- 
fortable boarding-house  for  mechanics,  which  Alice  has 
found  for  them,  and  Lyle  has  learned  Jto  pass  the  handsome 
dwelling  in  which  resides  his  quondam  friend,  without  a 
twinge  of  jealousy  coming  over  him. 

The  room  of  Violet  is  something  to  behold.  True,  it  is 
only  an  attic,  with  a  sloping  ceiling,  and  but  one  narrow 
window  to  admit  the  light.  But  that  window  looks  out  upon 
the  crowded  streets  and  an  adjacent  park,  from  which  the 
voices  of  children  come  floating  upward  every  fair  day  in  the 
week  to  her  like  the  music  of  silver  bells.  In  the  distance, 


BETTER    PROSPECTS.  125 

the  river,  specked  with  white  sails,  gives  variety  to  the  pros- 
pect. Boxes  of  flowers,  evidently  carefully  tended,  are 
arranged  on  the  sill,  and  a  bright  canary  warbles  all  day  long 
in  a  cage  above  her.  Violet,  for  once  in  her  life,  begins  to 
have  some  idea  of  happiness. 


.  . 


120  VIOLET,  THt    CHILD    OF    TH«    CITY. 


CHATTER   XVL 

• 

AM     IMPORTANT     RUMOR. 

WHILE  the  time  passed  away  thus  pleasantly  within  the 
humble  room  of  Violet,  great  preparations  were  a-foot  within 
the  stately  mansion  of  the  aristocratic  Mr.  Benedick — who 
labored  very  arduously  to  convince  his  fellow-creatures  that  ho 
was  one  of  the  happiest  men  alive,  yet  who,  notwithstanding 
his  enormous  wealth  and  enviable  position  in  society,  was,  m 
reality,  wretched  beyond  measure.  He  had  followed  for  years 
the  golden  delusion  in  which  he  revelled,  and  found,  too  late, 
alas!  that  wealth  does  not  always  carry  happiness  in  its 
train.  His  family,  who  did  nothing  that  was  not  strictly 
in  accordance  with  fashion,  were  cold  and  formal,  and  had 
long  ago  lost  all  feeling  in  the  giddy  whirl  of  splendor  to 
•which  they  had  been  accustomed,  and  in  which  it  had  been 
his  earnest  endeavor  through  life  to  place  them  ;  while  Alice 
— poor,  gentle,  and  uncomplaining  Alice,  who  would  have 
given  her  entire  love,  had  she  met  with  any  encouragement — 
he  considered  too  far  beneath  him  to  bestow  a  thought  upon. 
Why,  then,  did  he  keep  her  ?  Alas !  that  was  a  mystery  fast 
locked  within  the  dark  recesses  of  his  own  haughty  heart,  and 
which  it  was  probable  would  perish  with  him. 

Yet  there  was  torn*  sunshine  in  the  rich  man's  dwelling ; 


A*    IMPORTANT    HUMOR.  127 

yes,  there  was  some  !  At  the  outset  of  his  dazzling  career,  it 
had  been  Benedick's  aim  to  place  himself  on  a  level  with  the 
first  society  in  the  land :  that  object  attained,  and  old  age 
beginning  to  creep  on  apace,  the  rich  man's  dearest  aspira- 
tions were  centred  in  his  eldest  child.  It  was  his  desire  to  sea 
her,  as  she  grew  in  years,  make  not  only  a  "  desirable,"  but  a 
glorious  match  !  And,  at  last,  there  was  prospect  of  hi* 
desires  being  gratified. 

M  Have  you  heard  of  the  new  arrival  ?"  asked  the  fashion- 
able Minns,  one  evening.  The  question  was  addressed 
not  only  to  a  single  individual,  but  to  a  group  of  young  men, 
dressed  to  the  extreme  of  affectation,  who  stood  upon  the 
steps  of  the  Broadway  Racket  Court,  smoking  their  genuine 
Havanas  (N.  B. — All  cigars  sold  in  New  York  under  the 
name  of  Havanas  may  be  regarded  as  genuine),  in  the  faces 
of  the  passers-by,  and  indulging  in  sundry  insolent  and  inde- 
licate remarks,  such  as  our  young  blades  of  fashion  appear 
greatly  to  delight  in. 

"•  Have  you  heard  of  the  new  arrival  ?" 

No ;  nobody  present  had  been  so  lucky  as  to  hear  of  it. 

"  There'll  be  a  fine  chance  for  somebody,"  continued  young 
Minns,  in  that  mysterious  manner  which  people  who  know 
more  than  others  are  in  the  habit  of  assuming.  u  Poor  fellow  ! 
I  quite  pity  him  !  All  the  intriguing  mammas  of  the  city, 
with  their  interesting  marriageable  daughters  in  tow,  will  be 
running  after  him." 

"  You  are  remarkably  obscure  to-night,  Frank,"  continued 


128       VIOLET,  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  CITY". 

one  of  his  listeners ;  "  suppose  you  enlighten  us  as  to  the  mys- 
terious '  him '  of  whom  you  speak  ?" 

"  Aye  !  who  is  he  ? — come,  we're  all  anxious  to  fathom  the 
•wonderful  secret,"  exclaimed  another — no  other  than  that 
fascinating  individual,  Mr.  Pinkerton  Podge. 

"  Ay,  you're  all  dying  to  hear  it,"  retorted  Minns,  striking 
an  attitude,  and  poking  at  them  successively  with  his  cane  ; 
"  but  what  would  you  give  to  hear  it — jolly  dogs  ?" 

"Just  two  cents — the  price  of  an  Evening  Express,  which, 
no  doubt,  contains  its  usual  list  of  arrivals,"  remarked  a 
would-be  wit  at  his  elbow. 

"  Yes ;  but  not  my  arrival,"  replied  Minns ;  "  he's  too  green — 
he's  too  fresh  ;  took  rooms  at  the  Astor,  and  ordered  his  sup- 
per, not  an  hour  ago.  I  had  it  from  Stetson,  himself,  who 
was  quite  in  a  fret  between  his  distinguished  guest  and  the 
flunkeys.  A  live  lord,  gentlemen  ;  what  d'ye  think  of  that  P 

"  A  lord  1"  exclaimed  his  hearers  in  a  breath  ;  and  puppy- 
dom — or  at  least  an  infinitesimal  portion  of  it — seemed 
shaken  to  its  foundations  by  the  astounding  intelligence. 

"Yes,  gentlemen,  a  lord — a  living,  breathing  lord;  and 

what's  more,  as  I'm  told,  a  d d  fine,  choice,  aristocratic 

young  fellow  1" 

"  Shaken  _  out  of  his  sphere  by  some  of  the  recent  convul- 
sions in  Europe,"  remarked  Podge,  who  remembered  to  have 
encountered  that  expression  in  some  paper  which  he  had  been 
reading. 

"  No,"  replied  Minns,  "  a  mere  voyage  de plais'u\  I  believe  ; 


•       AN     IMPORTANT    KUMOR.  129 

though  'tis  possible — mind,  I  only  say  possible — that  he  may 
return  to  England  with  a  wife." 

"  Good  gracious !"  exclaimed  one. 

"  Must  be  demented,"  chimed  in  another. 

"  Cracked — an  upper  story  to  let,"  added  the  wit,  with  a 
laugh  at  his  own  jocosity. 

"And  pray,"  lisped  the  nonchalant  Podge,  "pray,  who 
may  be  the  fortunate  fair  one,  whose  charms  have  created  so 
great  a  revolution  in  his  lordship's  heart  ?  Come,  Frank,  dem 
it !  let  us  know." 

"  I  won't  swear  that  I'm  infallible,"  observed  Minns,  with 
praiseworthy  caution,  while  he  fully  believed  that  every  word 
he  was  about  to  utter  was  downright  scandal,  and  nothing 
more ;  "  but  it  is  well-known  that  old  Pryce  Benedick,  the 
millionaire,  has  been  for  years  on  terms  of  intimacy  with  the 
Southdown  family,  whom  he  became  acquainted  with  during 
one  of  his  European  excursions ;  and,  ten  to  one,  the  first 
visit  the  young  lord  pays  is  to  Benedick's — with  whose 
daughter,  Julia,  he  once  had  a  serious  flirtation." 

"  Humbug !  stuff !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Podge,  whose  face  was 
as  blank  as  a  sheet  of  paper. 

"Humbug,  is  it?  stuff,  is  it?"  replied  Minns,  who  knew 
his  friend  Podge's  penchant  for  the  lovely  Julia,  and  took  a 
malicious  pleasure  in  teasing  him — which  he  did  with  so  inno- 
cent an  air,  that  Podge  had  not  the  least  idea  of  his  drift, 
though  to  every  one  but  the  victim  it  was  perfectly  trans- 
parent. "  Why,  there's  not  a  single  individual  of  Benedick's 
acquaintance,  that  has  not  heard  the  story  from  his  lips,  at 

6* 


130  VIOLET,    THE    CHILD    OF   THE    CITT. 

least  a  dozen  times ;  for  it  smacks  of  aristocracy,  and  the  old 
fellow's  devilish  fond  of  his  noble  acquaintances,  let  rne  tell 
you !" 

Alas !  poor  Podge  had  heard  the  story  fifty  times,  instead 
of  a  dozen ;  but  had  always  looked  upon  it  as  an  ingenious 
fable  of  Benedick's  own  invention  ;  gotten  up  for  the  purpose 
of  magnifying  his  personal  importance. 

"  But  come — let's  have  an  excitement  of  some  description. 
Here's  Podge,  anxious  to  bet  with  somebody.  Come,  what'll 
you  bet,  now,  that  Lord  Southdown's  first  visit  is  not  to  Bene- 
dick's ?" 

"  Suppers,"  replied  Podge,  snappishly. 

"  Done !"  exclaimed  Minns ;  and,  almost  ere  the  words 
had  left  his  mouth,  Major  Dabster,  U.S.A.,  approached  the 
group  in  a  very  excited  manner,  much  at  variance  with  the 
coolness  of  his  general  bearing. 

"  Evening,  Minns — evening  Betts — ditto,  everybody  !" 

The  Major  did  not  condescend  to  particularize  Podge,  as 
they  happened  to  be  rivals  upon  a  certain  tender  topic,  which 
they  fondly  imagined  to  be  concealed  from  all  breasts  save 
their  own. 

"Heard  the  news,  of  course,"  said  the  Major,  in  his  usual 
curt  manner. 

"  What !  of  Southdown's  arrival  ?  Oh,  certainly  !  You're 
behind  the  age,  Major,"  and  Minns  laughed  good-naturedly, 
while  the  others,  not  to  appear  less  clever,  imitated  his  example 
— all  but  Podge,  who  couldn't  laugh,  and  wouldn't. 

"Of  course;  everybody's  heard  it!  A  contemptible 
puppy  ! "  growled  tha  Major,  between  his  clenched  teeth. 


AN     IMPORTANT     RUMOR.  131 

"What!  prejudiced  against  him  already,  Major?  Nay, 
you  should  see  the  man,  at  least,  before  you  condemn  him ! " 

"  And  who  told  you  I  hadn't  seen  him,  sir  ?"  retorted  tho 
Major,  with  startling  earnestness.  "  I  have  seen  him — this 
hour — this  moment,  and — I'm  sorry  for  his  lordship  that  I 
can't  say  anything  in  his  favor.  Those  are  my  sentiments, 
and  I  don't  care  whjb  knows  'em — damme  ! " 

Here  the  Major  brought  his  heavy  cane  down  with  fearful 
vehemence  upon  the  luckless  corns  of  his  friend  Podge,  who 
relished  the  infliction  still  less  than  the  news  he  had  heard. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  exclaimed  Podge,  fiercely. 

"  Beg  pardon ! "  retorted  the  Major ;  "  was  excited. — Don't 
like  it,  can  take  it  up !" 

Podge  had  a  due  respect  for  gold  lace  and  bright  buttons, 
so  he  was  fain  to  swallow  his  anger. 

"But  where  did  you  see  him,  Major — where  could  you 
have  seen  him  ? — so  newly  arrived,"  persisted  Minns. 

"  Doubt  my  veracity,  sir  ?"  snarled  the  Major. 

"  I  have  too  much  honor  for  the  cloth  you  wear,  to  offer 
you  such  an  insult,  Major,"  replied  Minns,  sarcastically, 
touching  his  hat. 

"  Ah,  lucky  you  don't — bad  humor  to-night — would  like  to 
get  up  a  row  with  somebody.  Would  you  believe  it,  gents, 
although  he  has  been  only  a  few  hours  in  the  country,  I 
actually  found  the  puppy,  a  few  seconds  since,  carrying  on  a 
flirtation  with  Miss  Benedick — a  thing  /  have  never  presumed 
to  do,  though  I've  known  her  from  a  baby." 

Here  the  Major  paused — having  gone  further  than  he 


132  VIOLET,   THE     CHILD     O7    TUB    CITT. 

intended — and  blushed  for  his  dyed  whiskers,  which  concealed 
the  fact  that  he  was  old  enough  to  be  twice  Miss  Julia's 
father. 

"Come,  Podgy,  acknowledge  the  corn,  and  fork  over  that 
supper !"  shouted  Minns^  honoring  Podge,  as  he  spoke,  with 
an  affectionate  slap  on  the  back.  "  The  Major's  disclosures 
have  made  me  feel  wolfish.  I  could  e$  a  whole  pheasant, 
and  finish  off  with  roast  turkey !" 

'  "  Oh !  certainly — nothing  can  be  fairer,"  replied  Podge, 
reluctantly  suffering  Minns  to  draw  his  arm  through  his  own. 
And  then,  having  gotten  a  little  ahead  of  the  rest,  he 
whispered  to  Minns :  "  Have  you  such  a  thing  as  a  V  about 
you?" 

It  was  the  way  that  Podge  always  took  of  paying  his 
beta. 

In  the  meantime,  the  interesting  family  whose  doings 
formed  so  fruitful  a  theme  of  gossip  for  some  score  or  so  of 
male  and  female  hangers-on,  who  freely  partook  of  the  hospi- 
talities of  the  Benedicks,  and  repaid  them,  when  their  backs 
were  turned,  by  the  most  unmerciful  abuse,  had  withdrawn 
themselves  from  the  gayeties  of  the  town,  to  teste  at  Newport 
the  quiet  pleasures  (so  said  a  Wall  Street  newspaper  of  which 
Pryce  was  a  principal  supporter)  of  a  country  life.  The 
manner  in  which  this  rural  quiet  is  obtained  at  such  places  is 
rather  amusing,  and  to  the  uninitiated  somewhat  startling. 
There  fashion  holds  still  its  undisputed  sway,  and  retirement 
is  only  another  word  for  appearing  in  public  as  much  as 
possible,  and  getting  one's  name  freely  handled  in  certain  of 


AN    IMPORTANT    RUMOR.  133 

the  public  prints  as  the  "lovely  and  bewitching"  Miss  This, 
or  the  "divine  and  sylphlike"  Miss  That;  the  magnificent 
and  queenly  Mrs.  So-and-so,  or  the  manly  and  accomplished 
Mr.  Dash.  These  newspaper  compliments  are  too  frequently 
far-fetched,  often  paid  for  by  the  parties  be-puffed,  and  in  the 
case  of  the  male  portion  at  least,  singularly  distorted.  Little 
Pettit's  legs  are  like  straws  stuck  into  quart  mugs,  and  his  face 
is  about  as  expressive  as  that  of  a  fish,  having  retained  the 
early  lineaments  with  which  it  emerged  from  the  cradle. 
But  the  correspondent  of  the  Universal  Truth  Teller,  or 
whatever  you  please  to  term  it,  calls  him  a  "  fine,  manly 
fellow,  who  sits  a  horse  like  an  Apollo  "  (a  pair  of  tongs  and 
Pettit  would  look  about  the  same  on  horseback).  The  men 
show  their  appreciation  of  nature  by  horse-racing,  smoking, 
gambling  and  drinking  to  excess,  devoting  the  interval 
moments  to  their  fair  acquaintance,  while  the  latter  dress  like 
opera-dancers,  play  at  billiards  and  ten-pins,  and  in  some  cases 
even  indulge  in  cigars.*  How  these  delicate  and  supposed-to- 
be  refined  women,  nursed  in  the  lap  of  luxury  and  educated  to 
nothing  calculated  to  give  them  trouble,  can  bring  themselves 
to  the  performance  of  acts  which  any  well-bred  girl,  however 
humble  her  condition  in  life,  must  shrink  from  in  abhorrence 
is  a  mystery. 

"  A  lady,"  was  once  an  object  to  be  esteemed  and  admired. 
"  Ladies  "  now-a-days,  as  the  world  goes,  wear  men's  coatees 

*  This  slight  account  of  the  doings  at  one  of  our  principal  "  watering- 
places  "  is  by  no  means  exaggerated :  witness  the  columns  of  the 
newspapers  for  several  years  past. 


134 


VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     OK    THE    CITT. 


and  vests,  ride  their  horses  in  hats,  cravats,  jackets,  and  pan- 
taloons, dress  like  the  most  abandoned  of  their  sex,  and  even 
play  at  ten-pins.  But  in  proportion  as  they  encourage  these 
eccentricities  they  cease  to  be  women;  they  are  men  to  all 
intents  and  purposes,  and  as  they  are  but  a  feeble  imitation 
of  the  genuine  article,  they  cease,  of  course,  to  command  the 
respect  which  would  otherwise  be  due  to  them,  and  are 
talked  of  by  the  knowing  ones  as  the  latter  talk  of  their 
dogs  and  horses.  Happily  the  class  of  which  we  speak  is  a 
limited  one,  and  there  is  some  hope  that  the  growing  intellec- 
tual vigor  of  the  time  may  counteract  the  pernicious  influence 
of  such  examples. 


tdi  lo  ««;•: . -:---j    .;!; 


A    MODEL    BOARDING-HOUSE.  135 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

A   MODEL   BOARDING-HOUSE. 

VIOLET — like  her  humble  namesake  of  the  woods  and 
fields — still  continues  to  hold  up  her  head  by  the  wayside,  but 
so  feebly,  that  she  is  hardly  noticed  by  the  crowd  that  hurries 
past.  There  are  so  many  roses  and  tulips — so  many  brighter 
flowers  pushing  their  attractions  boldly  into  notice  (not  more 
boldly,  however,  than  the  gorgeous  sunflower,  which  passes, 
nevertheless,  for  what  it  is — while  it  considers  itself  the  most 
imposing  feature  in  the  prospect),  that  nobody  hitherto  has 
observed  the  modest  little  thing. 

The  duties  of  Violet  had  become  of  late  more  onerous  than 
ever,  and  it  required  no  little  fortitude  and  perseverance  to 
overcome  the  difficulties  which  were  continually  presenting 
themselves :  for  poverty  is  a  hydra-headed  monster,  to  be 
conquered  only  by  the  most  fearless  and  unrelenting  of  his  ene- 
mies. After  an  experience  of  more  than  a  year  at  the  weaver's, 
Lyle  was  taken  seriously  ill,  and  being  incapacitated  from 
labor,  Violet  was  soon  obliged  to  look  out  for  both  :  she  had 
a  cosy  nook  provided  for  him  in  the  house  where  she 
lodged ;  and  they  might  still  have  been  very  comfortable,  had 
it  not  been  for  the  incessant  visits  of  Max  Benedick — bent  on 
anything  but  a  benevolent  object — and  a  host  of  kindred 


136  VIOLET,   THE    CHILD    Of   THE 

annoyances,  against  which  she  found  it  difficult  to  bear  up. 
He  had  discovered  her  address  by  accidentally  overhearing  a 
conversation  between  Violet  and  Alice,  and  had  made  his 
mother's  name  an  excuse  for  his  calls. 

It  so  happens,  that  Master  Maximus  Benedick,  one  day 
getting  tired  of  the  dusty  highway,  turns  aside  to  refresh 
himself  in  the  enjoyment  of  fresh  fields  and  pastures  new. 
He  has  not  gone  far  before  a  lythe  and  pretty  figure,  tripping 
past,  arrests  his  attention.  She  carries  a  bandbox  before  her, 
and  is  evidently  a  sempstress. 

Now,   Max — Max  Benedick,   you    really   are   not  going 

Yes  he  is  though ; — not  to  offer  to  carry  the  box  for  her, 
but  to  follow  her  to  the  place  of  her  destination. 

It  so  happens,  also,  that  another  person,  about  Max's  age, 
but  of  a  somewhat  more  manly  bearing,  is  bending  his  steps 
in  that  direction.  It  is  Herbert,  who  is  proceeding  with  all 
due  diligence  with  a  note  from  cousin  Alice  to  Violet  herself. 
Ever  since  his  first  introduction  to  her,  Alice  had  liked  the 
boy,  and  although  he  had  long  ago  left  Mr.  Benedick's 
employ,  he  occasionally  called  on  her,  and  was  more  than 
once  made  the  go-between  in  the  little  affairs  concerning  her- 
self and  Violet.  Poor  cousin  Alice !  had  she  known  what 
the  result  would  be  of  those  frequent  interviews  between 
the  orphans,  she  would  have  chosen  some  other  messenger  ! 

Alice,  in  short,  was  pretty  and  interesting,  but  Violet  was 
still  prettier,  and  all  the  natural  knight-errantry  of  Herbert's 
disposition  was  forthwith  enlisted  in  behalf  of  the  latter. 


A     MODEL    BOARDING-HOTJSK.  187 

Herbert,  however,  had  not  been  by  any  means  an  inconstant 
or  lukewarm  admirer ;  but  Alice — so  easily  attached  to  all 
others — had  been  cold  to  him  ;  and,  having  found  in  Violet 
that  unity  of  sentiment  which  Alice,  as  he  thought,  did  not 
feel  or  would  not  acknowledge,  what  wonder  that  Herbert 
transferred  his  attentions  to  another  shrine,  where  his  offerings 
were  no  longer  neglected  ? 

Poor  Alice !  she  soon  discovered  the  true  state  of  things, 
and  it  might  have  occasioned  some  little  confusion  in  Her- 
bert's mind,  had  he  known  what  a  pang  the  knowledge  had 
given  her.  But,  in  this,  as  in  other  matters,  the  gentle  girl 
did  not  complain.  A  few  tears  stole  into  her  eyes  when 
Herbert  -informed  her  of  the  state  of  his  feelings  towards 
Violet,  and  that  was  all.  Thenceforward,  no  one  should  dream 
that  she  had  ever  thought  of  him  as  other  than  a  friend. 

On  seeing  a  stranger  ascending  the  steps  of  the  house  to 
which  his  own  attention  was  directed,  a  pang  of  jealousy  shot 
through  Herbert's  breast^  and  he  began  to  fear  that  he 
cared  more  for  the  sempstress  than  either  of  them  had  sus- 
pected. He  was  still  more  bewildered  when  he  found  that 
person  to  be  Max  Benedick. 

"  What  does  that  scented  puppy  want  here  ?"  thought  Her- 
bert, quickening  his  steps.  "He's  bound  upon  no  good 
errand,  I'll  answer  for  it." 

A  few  light  springs  brought  the  sprightly  young  fellow 
to  the  head  of  the  third  flight  of  stairs,  where  was  situ- 
ated Violet's  room.  As  he  gained  the  landing,  a  scream 
caught  his  ear.  He  dashed  open  tho  door,  nnd  beheld  Max 


VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     OF     THE    CITY. 

Benedick,  who  had  entered  on  pretence  of  being  the  bearer  of 
a  commission  from  his  mother,  with  his  arm  around  Violet's 
waist,  in  the  act  of  endeavoring  to  wrest  from  her  a  kiss. 
The  virtuous  Max  was  evidently  tipsy,  and  a  blow  from  Her- 
bert's fist  sent  him  rolling  on  the  floor.  He  did  not  wait  for 
redress,  on  recognising  the  intruder,  but  hid  his  face  in  his 
hat,  and  darted  down  stairs  without  casting  a  look  be- 
hind. 

Herbert  was  in  Violet's  confidence  in  a  moment.  He  had 
never  told  Violet  that  he  loved  her,  nor  had  she  the  slightest 
idea  that  her  own  feelings  towards  her  fellow  orphan  were  of 
that  intense  description  which  the  modern  world  joins  in  ridi- 
culing under  that  familiar  name.  In  their  communications 
with  each  other  they  had  conducted  themselves  with  the  art- 
less unreserve  of  children,  each  only  too  happy  to  find  that 
there  was  in  the  nature  of  the  other  something  sufficiently 
congenial  to  render  the  association  agreeable. 

Herbert  was  monstrously  indignant  at  the  treatment  which 
Violet  had  received  at  the  hands  of  Max  Benedick,  and 
thought  he  would  like  to  give  the  fellow  a  pounding.  As 
that  was  not  practicable,  however,  at  the  present  moment,  he 
asked  Violet  if  she  thought  she  could  muster  the  confidence 
to  place  herself  under  his  guidance,  and  offered  to  conduct  her 
to  a  place  where  she  would  no  longer  be  annoyed  by  such 
visitors,  as  Violet  complained  that  this  was  not  the  first 
time  she  had  suffered  his  insults.  She  hesitated,  but  it  was 
only  for  an  instant.  Herbert  was  so  young  and  handsome, 
and  there  was  such  a  frank  expression  in  his  countenance,  that 


A    MODBL    BOARDING-HOUSE.  139 

she  could  not  doubt  his  sincerity,  and  she  accordingly  placed 
herself  at  his  disposal. 

Having  arrived  (by  this  time  it  was  quite  dark)  before  the 
door  of  Mrs.  Blinker's  establishment,  a  succession  of  double 
raps  brought  that  lady  down  to  the  passage-way,  three  steps 
at  a  time. 

Herbert  was  obliged  to  wait  some  time,  however,  for  Mrs. 
Blinker  had  a  mortal  fear  of  burglars.  He  reassured  her,  how- 
ever, by  saying : 

"It's  only  me,  Mrs.  Blinker — Herbert — on  particular 
business." 

A  great  clanking  of  bolts  and  bars  and  chains  ensued,  as  if 
some  one  was  undoing  the  entrance  to  a  prison,  and  they 
presently  found  themselves  in  Mrs.  Blinker's  little  shop, 
undergoing  her  matronly  inspection — for  she  viewed  Herbert 
and  his  companion  with,  it  must  be  confessed,  a  slight  tinge 
of  suspicion. 

"  You  need  not  look  so  dubiously  at  us,  Mrs.  Blinker,"  said 
Herbert,  smiling ;  "  it's  all  right,  I  assure  you," 

Whereupon,  he  told  her  his  story,  in  as  few  words  as 
possible,  and  asked  her  to  take  Violet  and  Mr.  Lyle  under 
her  temporary  charge — a  duty  for  which  he  promised  she 
should  be  handsomely  rewarded. 

Mrs.  Blinker  generously  declared  her  willingness  to  do 
everything  that  might  be  desired  of  her.  "The  young  lady 
and  her  father  should  not  want  for  nothing,  that  they  shouldn't 
— she  should  be  taken  care  of  as  if  she  was  a  born  princess, 
that  she  should,"  and  many  similar  assurances  escaped  her. 


140  VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     OP    THE     CITY. 

Herbert,  however,  had  not  time  to  listen  to  her ;  and,  merely 
pausing  to  see  what  Mrs.  Blinker  purposed  doing  for  the 
comforts  of  her  guest,  he  bade  Violet  a  kindly  good  night, 
promising  to  see  her  early  next  morning,  bestowed  a  penny 
upon  each  of  the  young  Blinkers  (which  Mrs.  B.  embraced 
the  earliest  opportunity  of  taking  from  them),  said  good-bye 
to  the  widow,  herself,  and  hurried  from  the  place,  amid  a 
variety  of  opposing  emotions. 

Violet  soon  found  that  Mrs.  Blinker  was  not  to  be  judged 
altogether  by  her  coarse  exterior;  for  the  moment  Herbert 
departed,  that  worthy  soul,  with  many  expressions  of  sym- 
pathy and  condolence,  busied  herself  in  making  preparations 
for  the  comfort  of  her  guest ;  and,  while  the  kettle  was 
singing  cheerily  upon  the  hob — calling  up  in  Violet's  mind, 
by  its  simple  music,  household  recollections  which  she  had 
forgotten  for  many  a  long  day,  and  visions  of  the  future, 
which  seemed  all  too  bright  to  be  realised — she  drew  from 
its  retirement  against  the  wall,  assisted  by  the  eldest  Blinker 
— a  modest  young  gentlemen  of  fourteen,  or  thereabouts, 
whom  his  mother  was  continually  admonishing  to  "take 
his  fingers  out  o'  his  mouth," — a  small,  old-fashioned 
table,  over  which  she  next  spread  a  snow-whito 
cloth,  and  arranged  thereon  the  appliances  for  a  hearty 
supper. 

Scarcely  had  she  completed  these  domestic  arrangements, 
when  the  door  swung  gently  open,  and  a  lady  of  uncertain 
age,  very  youthfully  dressed,  with  rings  and  pendants  in  her 
ears,  and  bracelets  upon  her  arms,  glided  with  a  swan-like 


A     MODEL    BOARDIKG-HOtTSE.  141 

movement  into  the  apartment;  and  who  should  next  make 
his  appearance  but  Mr.  Ferris,  with  his  seedy  coat  thrown 
jauntily  back,  displaying  a  white  vest  and  neckerchief,  and  an 
eye-glass,  which  he  immediately  brought  to  bear  upon  the 
slender  figure  and  downcast  countenance  of  Violet — whom  he 
concluded  to  be  a  "  devilish  pretty  girl,"  but  too  poor  for  one 
like  himself  to  think  of ;  for  Mr.  Ferris  never  came  in  the 
neighborhood  of  a  pretty  woman  without  calculating  the 
chances  of  a  matrimonial  alliance — to  him  a  matter  of  money, 
in  the  strictest  signification  of  the  term. 

"  A  young  relative  of  mine,"  whispered  Mrs.  Blinker  to  the 
new  comers,  on  witnessing  the  attention  with  which  they 
regarded  Violet.  "My  dear,  let  me  make  you  acquainted 
with  my  lodgers.  This  is  Mr.  Francis  Ferguson  Ferris,  a  poet, 
and  a  great  biographist.  This  is  Miss  Baker,  a  fashionable 
milliner,  ladies'  dress-maker,  and  going  out  to  sew  by  the  day, 
at  the  most  reasonable  prices — for  further  particulars  see  sign, 
front  of  house.  There !  now  you  all  know  one  another,  sit 
down  and  go  at  it !" 

Complying  with  which  polite  invitation,  Miss  Baker  placed 
herself  opposite  our  friend,  the  "  great  biographist,"  and  Mrs. 
Blinker  assigned  Violet  a  seat  close  to  her  elbow,  as  if  she  was 
afraid  she  might  try  to  run  away  ;  while  the  juvenile  of  four- 
teen years  old  mounted  himself  upon  a  stool  at  the  foot  of  the 
table,  and,  placing  one  of  his  fore-fingers  in  his  mouth,  with  a 
blank  stare  at  the  tea-pot,  awaited  further  developments. 

All  being  arranged  to  her  liking,  Mrs.  Blinker  took  her 
seat,  with  the  grave  dignity  of  a  parson  entering  his  desk  and 


142  VIOLET,    THE    CHILD    OF    THE    ClTr. 

formed  within  herself  a  resolution  that  she  would  astonish  her 
young  guest  with  the  extent  and  variety  of  her  acquirements. 
She  therefore  commenced  (with  a  sidelong  glance  at  Violet) 
by  fearing  that  "  the  hutangularity  of  the  milk  distracted 
from  the  flavor  of  the  tea,  and  made  it  drink  obscute,"  at  which 
announcement  Mr.  Ferris  became  very  red  and  full  in  the 
face,  as  if  he  had  had  something  to  do  with  turning  the  cream 
sour,  and  stared  violently  at  one  of  the  Chinese  mandarins 
upon  the  mantel-piece ;  while  Miss  Baker  sneezed  in  her  cup, 
and  fell  into  a  violent  fit  of  coughing.  Luckily  for  Violet, 
her  absence  of  mind  just  then  prevented  her  hearing  what 
Mrs.  Blinker  had  said,  and  she  was  at  a  loss  to  imagine  what 
all  this  unusual  commotion  was  about ;  when  Mrs.  Blinker  was 
obliged,  out  of  the  purest  good  will,  to  fly  round  to  the  side 
where  Miss  Baker  was  sitting,  and  give  her  a  hearty  slapping 
on  the  back,  by  dint  of  which  that  young  lady  was  speedily 
placed  out  of  danger. 

"  It's  nothing,"  said  Mrs.  Blinker  to  Violet,  as  she  resumed 
her  seat ;  "  she's  always  so  ;  the  leastest  thing  always  sets  her 
a  sneedgin'  and  'spectoratin'.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  she 
burst  her  biler  some  of  these  odd  times." 

"  Miss  Baker's  late  excitement  reminds  me  of  a  very  amu- 
sing story  that  my  grandfather  was  fond  of  telling,"  said  Mr. 
Ferris,  who  was  possessed  with  the  laudable  desire  to  give 
everybody  present  good  cause  for  a  hearty  laugh ;  and  then 
he  went  off  into  a  long,  grave  anecdote,  utterly  without  point 
or  wit  of  any  description,  and  found  out  before  finishing  it 
that  he  had  got  hold  of  the  wrong  story.  This  proved  to  be 


A     MODEL    BOARDING-HOUSE.  143 

such  a  disheartening,  melanfiholy  affair,  that  it  deprived  every 
one  of  any  disposition  to  mirthfulness,  and  Mr.  Ferris  himself 
became  very  low-spirited. 

But  Mrs.  Blinker  would  not  be  quieted. 

"  That  ain't  nothing  to  what  I've  heard  my  husband  tell, 
arter  some  of  his  long  voyages,"  said  the  widow,  after  Ferris 
had  ended.  "  Sich  sights  as  he  seen,  and  such  scenes 
as  he  experienced,  was  '  awful  gardner'  to  everybody  but  them 
•what  was  engaged  in  'cm,  I  tell  ye !  I  declare  and  '  severate,' 
it  used  quite  to  discombobolate  me  to  listen  to  him.  He  was 
a  genus,  too,  was  my  husband.  Why,  he  once  told  me  that 
he  had  the  courage  to  box  a  compass — some  kind  o'  animal 
they  have  at  sea — and  he  could  steer  a  vessel  by  a  needle  just 
as  well  as  if  it  was  a  rudder.  Could  make  his  own  stockings, 
too  ;  once  told  me  he  spun  yarn  enough,  in  one  voy'ge,  to  set 
up  a  thread  and  needle  store  out  of  it.  Oh  !  he  was  indeed  a 
wonderful  man  !  Why,  he  used  to  lay  out  on  the  skylight  of 
a  winter's  night,  with  the  barometer  down  to  zero,  and 
smoke  his  pipe,  and  feel  no  more  effects  from  it,  nor  if  he'd 
been  a  sitting  on  ytfnder  stove.  Perhaps,  after  all,  though,  it 
was  that  gave  him  such  a  sculptural  voice,"  she  added, 
thoughtfully.  At  this  moment,  one  of  the  juveniles  set  up  a 
shrill  cry  in  the  entry,  that  forcibly  reminded  Mr.  Ferris  of  the 
memorable  lines  from  the  "  Lady  of  the  Lake" — 

-    -, -'rlfliio?^!    s    A:    f%rriiSTO:rt 
"  At  once  there  rose  so  wild  a  yell 

Within  that  dark  and  narrow  dell, 
As  all  the  fiends  from  heaven  that  fell 
Had  pealed  the  banner-cry  of  hell  I" 


144  VIOLBT,    TIIK     CHILD     OF    THB    CITT. 

In  an  instant,  the  wakeful  mother  was  upon  the  scene  of 
strife ;  and  presently  she  was  heard  without,  in  her  shrillest 
key,  reprimanding  the  youthful  delinquent  who  had  occasioned 
the  disturbance. 

The  endurance  of  the  company  had  reached  its  climax,  and 
a  roar  of  laughter  followed  from  the  lungs  of  Mr.  Ferris  and 
his  fascinating  vis-a-vis,  Miss  Baker,  which  almost  drowned  the 
reproaches  of  the  mother  and  the  agonized  yells  of  the 
infant.  Violet  felt  too  weary  and  too  sad  to  join  in  their 
amusement,  but  even  she  could  not  restrain  a  smile. 

Supper  being  over,  Mr.  Ferris  having  no  engagements  on 
his  hands,  as  he  said,  for  the  evening,  he  and  Miss  Baker  sat 
down  to  a  quiet  game  of  checkers ;  and  Violet,  seeing  Mrs. 
Blinker  engaged  upon  some  clothing  for  her  children,  volun- 
teered to  assist  her.  The  time  passed  heavily,  notwithstand- 
ing, and  she  was  glad  when  bedtime  came ;  for  it  gave  her  an 
opportunity  to  think  over  all  that  had  befallen  her  during  the 
past  twenty-four  hours,  and  to  pour  forth  in  prayers,  to  her 
Heavenly  Father,  her  gratitude  for  the  miraculous  manner  in 
which  he  had  carried  her  through  her  trials  thus  far.  That 
night,  too,  her  innocent  couch  was  visited  by  pleasant  dreams, 
and  they  were  none  the  less  so,  because  the  figure  of  her 
young  protector  mingled  with  them. 

Herbert  proved  as  good  as  his  word,  by  calling  the  next 
morning,  at  a  reasonably  early  hour,  at  Mrs.  Blinker's. 
Unlike  his  fair  friend,  Violet,  he  had  passed  a  troubled  night ; 
for  he  had  been  endeavoring  within  his  mind  to  conjure  up 
some  method  of  providing  for  her,  at  least,  for  the  present, 


A     MODEL     BOARDING-HOUSE.  145 

without  troubling  bis  protector,  Mr.  Humphreys,  whom  he 
thought  already  sufficiently  burthened  with  himself.  He  was 
unable,  however,  to  arrive  at  any  satisfactory  conclusion  ;  and, 
it  was  not  until  the  sign  of  Miss  Baker  caught  his  eye,  with  a 
written  announcement  under  it,  that  a  young  lady  was  wanted 
as  an  assistant,  etc.,  that  he  began  to  "  see  his  way  out  of  the 
woods."  The  advertisement,  however,  inspired  him  with  a 
new  idea,  and  he  lightly  ascended  the  stair,  and  entered  what 
Mrs.  Blinker  termed,  par  excellence,  her  parlor — Violet  advanc- 
ing delightedly  to  meet  him  as  he  did  so,  and  then  suddenly 
stopping  short,  and  blushing  crimson,  as  the  thought  of  the 
brief  duration  of  their  acquaintance  crossed  her  mind.  But 
Herbert  behaved  himself  in  such  a  brotherly  manner,  and  was 
so  kind  in  his  inquiries  after  her  welfare,  that  all  diffidence 
was  soon  removed,  and  they  talked  and  jested  together  as 
though  they  had  been  acquaintances  of  many  years'  standing. 
Herbert  asked  Violet  if  she  was  accustomed  to  needle-work, 
and  also  if  she  would  object  to  taking  employment  temporarily 
as  a  milliner's  assistant ;  and  her  replies  being  both  of  them 
satisfactory,  he  summoned  Mrs.  Blinker,  and  left  the  rest  in 
her  hands.  The  result  was,  that  before  night  had  come 
round  again,  Violet  was  in  the  employ  of  the  amiable  Miss 
Baker,  and  the  paper  announcing  the  "  want "  was  taken 
down  to  serve  for  some  future  occasion. 

That  morning  Herbert  went  to  his  office  with  a  lighter 
heart  than  usual. 


146  VIOLET,    THE    CHILD    OF   THE    OITT. 


CHAPTER  XVIIL 

SUSPICIONS. 

SOME  weeks  flew  rapidly  by,  during  which  little  that  was 
new  occurred  with  regard  to  either  of  the  orphans.  Herbert 
had  grown  more  manly  in  his  looks  during  the  interval ;  but 
made,  we  fear,  a  very  indifferent  student-at-law.  Instead  of 
his  books,  he  thought  of  Violet  more  constantly  than  ever  ; 
and  not  an  evening  passed  that  did  not  see  him  a  visitant  at 
Mrs.  Blinker's — who  had,  somehow  or  other,  taken  it  into  her 
head  that  Herbert  had  suddenly  fallen  into  the  possession  of 
untold  riches ;  and  who  was,  therefore,  continually  telling  her 
neighbors  what  fine  people  came  to  see  her ;  whereat  they 
wondered  greatly,  and  became  stricken  with  envy,  as  in  duty 
bound. 

But,  at  last,  a  small  black  cloud  made  itself  manifest  upon 
the  horizon  of  Herbert's  prospects.  We  have  said  that  he 
nightly  visited  the  charming  Violet,  who,  at  her  employment, 
and  buoyed  up  by  a  certain  secret  conviction  which  she  had 
long  entertained,  but  never  disclosed,  was  as  happy  as  a 
nightingale  in  her  humble  little  room — her  bower,  as  sho 
called  it— -at  Mrs.  Blinker's. 

Herbert's  late  hours  had  not  altogether  escaped  the  notice 


SUSPICIONS.  147 

of  the  worthy  Mr.  Humphreys,  but  he  had  hitherto  imputed 
it  to  an  increase  of  business  upon  the  young  man's  hands, 
which  demanded  his  presence  at  the  office  for  a  longer  period 
than  had  formerly  been  the  case.  But  an  anonymous  letter, 
•which  the  old  bachelor  one  day  received,  opened  his  eyes  to 
an  important  fact,  of  which  it  is  but  justice  to  confess  that  he 
had  never  encouraged  a  suspicion — viz. :  that  Herbert  was 
fast  falling  into  habits  of  dissipation,  and  that  he  had  already 
got  so  far  on  the  George  Barnvvell  track  as  to  keep  a  mistress 
in  town.  "We  need  only  here  explain,  that  the  ambiguous 
piece  of  composition  containing  this  startling  intelligence 
originated  in  the  fertile  brain  of  that  versatile  and  aspiring 
genius,  F.  Ferguson  Ferris,  who  had  conceived  a  desperate 
passion  for  the  gentle  Violet,  while  it  was  evident  that  she 
laid  no  value  upon  his  attentions,  but  reserved  all  her 
little  endearments  and  favors  for  that  sly  rogue,  young 
Herbert. 

"As  long  as  he  remains,  he  ranks  A,  No.  1,"  thought 
Ferris,  "  while  I  merely  figure  as  a  cipher  attached  to  the 
skirts  of  this  bewitching  little  piece  of  womankind."  With  a 
view,  therefore,  to  a  removal  of  the  annoyance,  Ferris — after 
some  hesitation,  we  will  do  him  the  justice  to  say — wrote 
and  dispatched  to  Humphreys,  the  location  of  whose  resi- 
dence he  obtained  from  Herbert  himself,  the  anonymous  letter 
in  question. 

Herbert  was  somewhat  surprised,  therefore,  on  drawing  a 
chair  to  one  corner  of  the  parlor  fire,  as  usual,  to  find  Mr. 
Humphreys  very  grave  and  very  chilly  in  his  manner.  The 


148  VIOLET,   THE   CHILD    OF   THE   CITY. 

worthy  old  gentleman  did  not  invite  his  protege  to  a  quiet 
game  of  backgammon,  as  was  customary  with  him,  but  look- 
ed quite  sulky  and  disappointed. 

"  Dear  sir,"  said  Herbert,  going  to  Humphreys,  and  laying 
his  hands  upon  his  shoulders,  "  you  do  not  seem  well  to- 
night ;  or,  is  it  possible  that  I  can  have  done  anything  to 
offend  you  ?" 

Mr.  Humphreys  tried  to  look  sternly  at  the  boy,  but  found 
that  a  more  difficult  matter  than  he  had  imagined. 

"  Pray,  what  have  I  done  ?"  asked  Herbert,  in  unfeigned 
surprise.  "  Come,  Mr.  Humphreys,"  he  added,  with  a  touch 
of  humor,  "  remember  I  am  a  lawyer,  and  won't  endure  to  be 
condemned  without  being  told  my  offence." 

"  There's  no  guilt  in  that  open,  manly  countenance,"  thought 
Mr.  Humphreys,  as  he  gazed  earnestly  at  Herbert's  face,  now 
flushed  with  healthy  excitement.  "  Do  you  know  anything  of 
the  matter  of  which  this  letter  treats  ?"  and  he  handed  it  to 
Herbert,  who  suddenly  blushed  deeply,  and  became  much  con- 
fused. 

"  Have  a  care,  Herbert,"  said  Mr.  Humphreys,  in  a  tone  of 
admonition ;  "  if  you  are  indeed  the  sort  of  character  men- 
'  tioned  in  that  scrawl — you  know  me,  boy !" 

Herbert  made  no  reply  to  this  terrible  speech  ;  but,  handing 
the  letter  back  to  Mr.  Humphreys,  burst  into  a  laugh  so  hearty 
that  it  tended  the  more  to  convince  that  individual  of  the 
young  man's  innocence. 

"  Well,  Herbert,  what  say  you  to  this  ?" 

"  That  it  is  an  infamous  slander  against  my  reputation !" 


SUSPICIONS.  149 

replied  Herbert,  with  the  fire  of  indignation  burning  in  his 
large  earnest  eyes  ;  "  and  that  I  will  not  fail  to  avenge  myself, 
at  the  first  opportunity,  upon  the  infamous  scoundrel  who 
could  so  heartlessly  set  to  work  to  accomplish  another's  ruin  !" 

Mr.  Humphreys,  with  a  tear  of  emotion  in  his  eyes,  silently 
pressed  the  lad's  hand  in  his  own. 

"  I  was  right,  then,  my  dear  boy,  in  my  former  conjectures," 
said  Mr.  Humphreys ;  "  and  it  was  business,  and  not  pleasure, 
that  was  the  cause  of  these  late  hours  at  night  ?" 

"  Mr.  Humphreys,"  Herbert  answered,  in  his  frankest  man- 
ner, "  dissimulation  is  an  acquirement,  in  which,  thanks  to  my 
bringing  up,  I  am  little  schooled  ;  and  I  will  not  attempt 
to  conceal  the  truth  from  you,  now  that  you  have  asked  it. 
And,  when  you  have  also  heard  my  motives,  sir,  you  will  not, 
I  am  sure,  condemn  me  for  my  silence  hitherto ;  for,  had  you 
required  it,  I  should  at  any  time  have  been  as  ready  to  give  an 
explanation  as  I  am  now." 

"  My  brave — my  noble  boy  !"  murmured  Mr.  Humphreys, 
regarding  him  with  all  the  affection  of  a  father. 

Herbert  then  detailed  to  him  the  history  of  his  acquaintance- 
ship with  Violet,  from  the  moment  of  their  first  interview  at 
Benedick's,  to  the  time  of  narration  ;  and  he  confessed  his 
motives  for  not  intruding  her  upon  the  attention  of  his  guard- 
ian in  a  manner  so  ingenuous,  that,  while  Humphreys  blamed 
him  for  his  backwardness,  he  could  not  help  praising  him  for 
his  candor. 

"  And  it  is  to  this  fair  damsel  in  distress,  that  you,  Master 
Herbert,  have  devoted  so  much  of  your  leisure,"  said  Hum- 


150  VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     OF    THE    CITY. 

phreys,  laughingly.  "  But  look  ahead  for  breakers,  as  you 
yourself  used  to  express  it,  and  see  that  you  prove  not,  after 
all,  a  second  Don  Quixote,  my  lad  !" 

There  was  a  momentary  pang  at  Herbert's  heart,  as  he 
thought  of  the  possibility  of  her  refusing  him,  but  the  old  sun- 
shine returned  to  his  face,  which  was  like  an  April  sky  over 
which  a  cloud  has  just  passed,  when  he  remembered  •  her 
unvarying  kindness,  and  the  many  little  favors,  flowers  and  the 
like,  which  he  had,  from  time  to  time,  received  at  her  hands. 

"  I  have  no  fear,  sir,  on  that  score,"  he  cheerfully  replied  ; 
"  and,  as  for  that  mysterious  letter  which  has  given  us  all  so 
much  pain,  I  think  I  know  the  author,  and  his  reasons.  And 
he  shall  confess  them,  too,  or  my  name's  not  Herbert." 

"  Let  us  do  nothing  hastily,"  said  Mr.  Humphreys ;  "  I  must 
myself  see  and  converse  with  this  paragon  of  perfection — as 
much  out  of  curiosity,  as  for  your  sake,  you  young  rascal !  If 
she  is  all  you  say  she  is,  and  I  don't  doubt  it,  we  may  yet  find 
something  that — " 

"  That  what,  sir  ?"  asked  Herbert,  anxiously. 

"  Hem !  we  shall  see,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  quietly  wiping 
his  spectacles. 

The  next  morning,  Mr.  Humphreys  was  stirring  betimes,  and 
he  and  Herbert  went  together  into  the  city — the  latter  uncon- 
sciously revealing  by  the  way  the  location  of  the  Blinker 
domain — Yv'hich  might  be  said  to  be  placed  in  the  very  centre 
of  lower  Kidd-dom.  Mr.  Humphreys  accompanied  his  young 
friend  as  far  as  Chambers  street,  and  excused  himself  from 
proceeding  further  in  that  direction,  on  the  plea  of  business 


SUSPICIONS.  151 

elsewhere.     Left  to  his  own  reflection,  he  had  soon  traversed 

• 

the  distance  which  separated  him  from  the  subject  of  his 
thoughts. 

When  Violet  was  informed  by  the  "  flustrated  "  and  "  dis- 
combobolated "  Mrs.  Blinker,  that  there  was  an  elderly 
gentleman  inquiring  for  her  in  "  the  parlor,"  her  heart  began 
to  flutter  like  a  bird  imprisoned  against  its  will ;  for,  of  course, 
she  could  only  think  that  Max  Benedick  had  come  hither  for 
the  purpose  of  tormenting  her — a  movement  which,  now  that 
she  had  tasted  the  blessings  of  liberty,  she  was  determined  to 
resist  to  the  extent  of  her  abilities.  Her  surprise  may  readily 
be  conceived,  when,  in  place  of  the  expected  visitor,  the 
countenance  of  an  entire  stranger  met  her  gaze. 

"  Hum  !  Herbert's  a  good  portrait  painter,"  he  thought,  as 
he  surveyed  her.  Then,  as  if  he  had  become  suddenly  aware 
of  his  abstraction,  he  rose,  and  apologised  in  the  kindest 
manner  'for  occupying  her  time;  but,  the  truth  was,  he 
"  had  come  upon  a  very  delicate  errand,  in  behalf  of  his 
young  friend,  Herbert,  whose  guardian  he  had  the  happi- 
ness of  being." 

Although  Violet  was  perfectly  conscious  that  she  had  done 
nothing  which  could  be  construed  into  wrong,  yet  she  hung 
her  head,  and  blushed,  and  looked,  it  must  be  confessed,  very 
much  like  a  guilty  individual.  She  was  fully  prepared,  how- 
ever, in  case  Mr.  Humphreys  placed  a  ban  upon  Herbert's 
visits,  to  declare  her  predilection  for.  him,  and  to  defend  her 
right  of  honoring  him  with  it  just  so  long  as  she  felt  pleased 
to  do  so. 


152  VIOLET,   THE     CHILD     Of    THE     CITT. 

Mr.  Humphreys,  however,  had  no  such  idea. 

"Herbert,"  he  said,  very  kindly,  "has  told  me  your  history, 
and  I  have  done  him  the  credit  to  acknowledge  that  he 
has  played  his  part  in  a  manner  to  reflect  honor  upon  his 
family." 

"He  has  none,  sir,"  quickly  responded  Violet,  again 
blushing. 

"  Oho !  mistress — so  intimate  with  the  young  rascal's  affairs 
already,"  thought  Humphreys.  "  Still,  however,  I  cannot  but 
think  that  your  position  here  is  hardly  a  pleasant  one." 

"  Oh,  sir,"  she  replied,  with  tears  in  her  large,  bright  eyes ; 
"  far  more  pleasant  than  you  can  have  any  conception !  If 
you  but  knew  from  what  I  have  escaped  I" 

'•  Were  you  not  kindly  treated,  then  ?"  asked  Humphreys, 
who  had  evidently  an  object  in  putting  these  questions. 

"  Heaven  knows !"  she  answered,  "  that  I  desire  to  cast 
blame  on  no  one,  but  that  I  have  been  most  shamefully 
neglected  and  abused,  that  Heaven  be  my  judge." 

"  And  you  are  perfectly  contented  here  ?" 

"  I  have  no  other  refuge ;  after  what  I  have  endured,  this 
humble  dwelling  seems  to  me  a  palace.  Oh  !  sir  !  what  do  I 

not  owe  to  Herbert — that  is,  to  Mr. "  and  here  Violet 

stammered,  and  lost  herself  in  confusion. 

"  Nay,  my  dear  young  lady,"  said  Humphreys,  taking  one 
of  her  little  hands  in  his  own  ;  "  have  no  shame  on  account 
of  your  feelings ;  they  would  do  honor  to  any  she  that  ever 
breathed.  But  my  language,  thus  far,  has  mystified  you,  I 
am  afraid.  Plainly,  then,  and  without  reserve,  I  come  to 


SUSPICIONS.  153 

offer  you  a  home  superior  to  that  you  now  enjoy ;  a  home 
where  waving  fields  and  sparkling  waters  form  a  prospect 
infinitely  preferable  to  the  piles  of  brick  and  mortar  which 
everywhere  meet  the  sight  in  this  detested  city;  a  home 
Avhere  the  rumbling  of  carts  is  replaced  by  the  singing  of 
birds;  a  home,  in  short,  where  you  may  one  day  become" — 
here  he  sneezed,  coughed,  and  blew  his  nose  in  some  confu- 
sion— the  word  mistress  being  a  little  too  abrupt  for  such 
a  brief  acquaintance. 

"  I  appreciate,  believe  me,  your  kind  intentions,"  returned 
Violet,  "  but,  I  have  resolved  never  to  allow  myself  to  become 
a  burden  to  any  family  while  my  poor  fingers  are  capable  of 
wielding  a  needle." 

"  That's  noble — noble  and  frankly  spoken,  and  I  like  it !" 
said  Humphreys,  bringing  his  cane  to  the  floor  with  an 
emphasis.  "  But,  you  see,  Miss,  I  have  no  family  of  my  own ; 
a  whimsical,  crotchety  old  bachelor,  whom  nobody  cares  for 
and  whom  nobody,  perhaps,  will  follow  to  his  grave  !" 

"  Nay,  sir — there  is  one  who  loves  you,  I  am  sure,  with  all 
the  affection  of  a  son !" 

"  There  may — yes,  there  may  be  one  ;  but,  indeed,  miss,  I 
am  still  very  lonesome ;  for  Herbert,  you  see,  is  in  the  city  all 
the  day,  and  goes  somewhere  a-visiting  of  nights,  and  I  should 
really  consider  it  as  a  favor,  if  I  could  find  some  one,  to — 
to—" 

"  Take  a  little  care  of  you  ?"  suggested  Violet. 

".How  well  you  comprehend  me,"  answered  Humphreys, 
7* 


154  VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     OF     THB      CITY. 

"  But  then,"  said  Violet,  "  what  would  the  world  be  apt  to 


"  The  world  may — hum !  hum  !  I'm  afraid  I  was  going  to 
say  something  strong  then,"  muttered  the  old  gentleman. 
"But  really,  miss,  I  should  think  that  the  little  experience 
you  have  had  in  such  matters  would  have  led  you  by  this 
time  to  care  very  little  for  what  '  Mrs.  Grundy  '  may  say  or 
think." 

"Your  last  words,  dear  sir,  have  convinced  me,"  she 
answered  ;  "  I  shall  be  ready  to  accompany  you  when  you 
will." 

And,  that  very  week,  Knickerbocker  Lodge  was  the  happy 
and  contented  home  of  a  new  inmate. 

"  Deary  me  and  souls  alive !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Blinker,  on 
hearing  the  news  of  Violet's  good  fortune  ;  "  if  it  ain't  abso- 
lute wonderful !  somebody's  always  having  of  rich  relations 
turning  up,  and  going  off  in  carriages  and  what  not.  Who 
knows,"  she  said  to  Miss  Baker,  who  had  become  really 
attached  to  Violet,  and  had  treated  her  very  kindly  during 
her  stay  with  her — as  one  evening  they  sat  "discussing  of" 
the  question  in  the  former  lady's  parlor — "  who  knows  but 
my  turn  may  come  next  ?  I've  heerd  my  old  husband  say, 
in  his  sculptural  voice,  that  he'd  a  rich  brother  who  owned  a 
ship  somewhere,  and  it  warn't  onlikely  I  might  disinherit  his 
properties  at  some  futur'  period." 

"  Life's  all  one  egregious  lottery,  my  dear  Blinker,"  sighed 
Miss  Baker — who  had  for  years  been  angling  after  hopeful 


SUSPICIONS.  155 

young  men,  without  getting  anything  more  than  an  occa- 
sional nibble ;  "  the  more  I  think  of  it,  the  more  it  reminds 
me  of  the  last  chance  I  took  in  Mclntyre's  great  concern. 
Generally,  when  I  had  the  temerity  to  go  in  for  a  ticket,  I 
came  out  blank,  and  once,  when  forty-one  drawed  the  prize,  I 
came  out  forty-two,  and  blank  as  usual." 
— "  Be  you  so  old  as  that  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Blinker,  innocently. 

"  Pshaw  !  dear — I  meant  my  ticket ;  forty-two  was  tho 
number  of  my  ticket !" 

"  Lotteries  are  injurious,"  said  Blinker,  gravely  ;  "  they  per- 
vert the  morals,  and  lead  to  worser  practices.  Many  a  young 
pernicious  has  been  ruined  by  'em.  Remember  the  fate  of 
my  Jacky !" 

"  And  what  become  of  Jacky  ?"  asked  Miss  Baker,  with 
much  interest. 

"  Why,  he  got  a  situation  in  an  exchange  office,  to  mako 
fires  and  keep  an  eye  on  the  customers  ;  and  then  they  pro- 
moted him  to  a  clarkship,  and  now  he's  in  a  bank,  and  wears 
standin'  collars  and  shovel-tailed  coats,  and  don't  know  his 
own  mother — the  undutiful  scapegoat !  Last  time  as  he  seed 
me,  he  wouldn't  sit  in  my  cheers,  'cause  they  looked  greasy ; 
didn't  believe  Sardanapalo  was  his  brother,  'cause  he  had  red 
hair  and  couldn't  see  straight ;  and  called  me  wulgar,  for 
axin'  him  if  he  hadn't  like  to  eat  some  bread  and  'lasses,  or 
su'thin.  Wulgar  !  thank  the  stars  ! — I  knows  better  not  to 
spell  wulgar  with  a  wee  /" 

"  We  are  all  weak-minded  creatures,  and  are  apt  to  forget 
ourselves  at  times,"  rejoined  Miss  Baker,  with  praiseworthy 


150  VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     OF    THE    CITT. 

consideration.  "  For  myself,  I  acknowledge  that  I  have  long 
had  the  weakness  to  encourage  hopes  of  the  return  of  a  rich 
uncle,  who  went  to  Havana  some  years  ago,  and  was  sup- 
posed to  have  been  shot  in  a  duel  with  some  over-proud 
Castilian.  Should  he  return  (and  I  have  dreamt  of  that 
occurrence  three  times,  already),  believe  me,  Blinker,  you 
shall  not  be  forgotten,  nor  your  pretty  cherubs." 

"Will  you  gim  me  some,  when  you  come  inter  your 
fortin'  ?"  suddenly  asked  the  fourteen-year-old,  looking  up 
from  a  cracked  slate,  on  which  he  had  been  drawing  rude 
representations  of  scaffolds  and  similar  objects. 

"  Of  course,  Sandy,  I  shall  not  forget  you,  my  love." 

"  Oh !  crackey !  that'll  be  better  nor  pickin'  up  old  iron, 
every  time  a  feller  wants  a  little  change,  won't  it  ?" 

"  Napalo !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Blinker,  holding  up  her 
finger. 

And  Napalo  became  as  silent  as  the  grave. 

At  this  moment  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  Miss 
Baker  threw  up  her  hands. 

"  My  uncle  !  'tis  he,  I'm  sure  'tis  he  !" 

And  making  to  the  door  to  open  it,  she  came  very  near 
precipitating  herself  into  the  arms  of  a  dark-bearded  gentle 
man,  with  a  hooked  nose,  who  exclaimed,  in  a  strong, 
Jewish  accent :  "  Any  old  do*  to  shell  ? — any  old  do1  ?" 


A    NEW    HOME.  157 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

A    NEW    HOME. 

WE  honor  with  all  our  heart  the  poet  who  first  sung  the 
glories  of  the  pleasant  summer-time ;  that  man  had  a  soul 
superior  to  the  ordinary  common-places  of  life,  and  would 
never  betray  the  confidence  of  a  friend,  nor  take  unfair  advan- 
tage of  an  enemy,  we'll  answer  for  it !  It  is  June,  and 
Summer,  with  her  apron  full  of  buds  and  flowers,  has  suc- 
ceeded quietly  to  the  genial  Spring.  The  trees  revel  in 
blossoms,  and  the  gardens  are  sprinkled  o'er  with  them,  until 
the  leaves  are  almost  hidden  from  the  sight.  Groves,  laden 
with  perfume,  yield  up,  though  not  without  some  murmuring, 
their  aromatic  treasures  to  the  enticing  breeze,  which  flies 
away  over  hill  and  dale,  to  delight  for  a  moment  with  its 
sweets  the  denizens  of  the  distant  and  weary  city.  Crickets 
and  grasshoppers  have  taken  undisputed  possession,  with  the 
grave  and  leisurely  beetle,  of  every  tuft  of  grass,  and  the  whole 
animal  kingdom  seems  to  have  been  aroused,  by  the  shaking 
of  Summer's  airy  wand,  into  sudden  vitality.  The  sky  is  blue 
and  clear,  though  occasionally  a  collection  of  snowy  clouds 
scuds  rapidly  athwart  the  broad  expanse.  The  atmosphere, 
too,  has  a  refreshing  clearness,  and  villages,  with  their  white- 
walled  cottages  and  glistening  spires,  loom  out  from  amid  the 


158  VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     OF    THE    CITT. 

clustering  foliage  on  the  distant  hills.  Craft  of  all  kinds,  with 
their  snowy  sails  set  to  catch  the  breeze,  go  sailing  by  upon 
the  bosom  of  the  majestic  river;  and  in  the  shrubbery  you 
may  hear  the  constant  murmur  of  the  busy  bee.  Birds  sing 
in  the  woods,  and  cattle  low  upon  the  meadow  ;  the  squirrel, 
too,  is  abroad,  gathering  food  for  her  little  ones;  and 
occasionally  may  be  encountered  one  of  Izaak  Walton's 
followers,  angling  for  fish  within  the  glassy  depths  of  some 
pellucid  streamlet. 

To  a  scene  of  this  description  would  we  direct  the  attention 
of  the  "  gentle  reader."  It  was  in  feet,  such  a  day  and  such  a 
scene  as  Leigh  Hunt  has  depicted  in  his  introduction  to 
Rimini : 

11 A  morn  the  loveliest  which  the  year  has  seen, 
Last  of  the  spring,  yet  fresh  with  all  its  green  ; 
For  a  warm  eve,  and  gentle  rains  at  night 
Have  left  a  sparkling  welcome  for  the  light. 
And  there's  a  crystal  clearness  all  about : 
The  leaves  are  sharp — the  distant  hills  look  out — 
A  balmy  briskness  comes  upon  the  breeze, 
The  smoke  goes  dancing  from  the  cottage  trees ; 
And,  when  you  listen,  you  may  hear  a  coil 
Of  bubbling  springs  about  the  grassier  soil ; 
And  all  the  scene,  in  short — sky,  earth  and  sea — 
Breathes  lilce  a  bright-eyed  face  that  laughs  out  openly." 

At  the  distance  of  a  few  miles  from  the  city,  in  a  seques- 
tered spot  upon  the  banks  of  the  Hudson  river,  and  which 
the  modern  sticklers  for  "improvement"  appear  to  have 
altogether  overlooked  in  the  intensity  of  their  calculations, 


A     NEW     HOME.  159 

a  small  rustic  cottage  peers  cunningly  out  from  the  midst  of 
a  sea  of  leaves  and  vines  in  which  it  is  embedded.  The  road 
to  this  pleasant  retreat  is  by  a  narrow  lane,  formed  by  a  grove 
of  trees,  whose  branches  almost  interlace  above  the  head  in 
the  shape  of  an  arch,  and  the  entire  premises  attached  to  the 
rustic  cottage  before  mentioned,  have  been  converted,  by  the 
skill  and  taste  of  the  proprietor,  into  a  blooming  garden.  In 
front,  a  well-graded  lawn  slopes  gently  downward  to  the  water's 
edge,  and  a  summer-house  is  built  at  a  little  distance  out 
upon  the  water,  to  which  access  is  gained  by  a  miniature 
bridge. 

Such  was  the  picture  upon  which  Violet,  throwing  open 
the  latticed  windows  of  her  little  chamber,  on  the  morning 
after  her  removal  from  the  city,  found  her  eyes  riveted,  as  if 
by  a  spell.  It  was  some  time  ere  she  could  realize  all  that 
had  transpired — so  rapidly  had  events  followed  each  other  dur- 
ing the  last  twenty-four  hours.  For,  the  reverses  of  her  father 
had  taken  so  deep  a  hold  on  her  mind,  that  her  meeting  with 
Mr.  Humphreys,  and  the  subsequent  conversation  she  had  had 
•with  him,  seemed  like  a  vision  among  the  dark  realities  by 
which  she  was  surrounded.  She  pressed  her  hand  upon  her 
forehead,  to  collect  her  scattered  senses,  and  gazing  slowly 
round  the  apartment,  strov/3  to  recall  the  incidents  of  the  pre- 
ceding day.  Everything  there  spoke  of  cleanliness  and 
comfort — so  that  it  was  evident  she  was  not  at  Mrs.  Blinker's. 
A  small  hanging  frame,  filled  with  books,  adorned  one  side  of 
the  wall,  and  several  prints,  suggestive  of  benevolence  and 
moral  behavior,  were  dispersed  about.  Gradually,  she  began 


160  VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     OP    THE     CITr. 

to  remember  all  that  bad  happened,  and,  turning  again  to  tbe 
window,  she  was  about  to  fix  her  gaze  once  more  upon  the 
entrancing  scene  before  her,  when  her  quick  eye  detected  the 
figure  of  an  old  man,  of  slightly  stooping  form,  in  morning- 
gown,  cap  and  slippers,  among  the  shrubbery.  Violet  imme- 
diately ran  down  to  the  lawn,  and  out  into  the  garden,  where, 
sure  enough,  she  found  the  good  Mr.  Humphreys  giving 
directions  to  his  gardener  about  the  disposition  of  some 
plants. 

"  Ah !  up  and  abroad  thus  early,  my  young  friend  ?"  ex- 
claimed the  good  old  gentleman,  extending  his  right  hand  to 
Violet,  with  a  cordiality  which  convinced  her  that  she  had  no 
ceremony,  such  as  is  usual  upon  a  first  acquaintance,  to  con- 
tend with  here. 

"  It  is  not  early  for  me,  I  assure  you,  sir,"  she  replied,  smil- 
ing. "  It  has  always  been  my  custom  to  vie  with  the  lark  in 
rising — for  father  used  to  say,  that 

i  .  V 

"  'Early  to  bed,  and  early  to  rise, 

Makes  one  both  healthy,  wealthy,  and  wise.'  " 

"  Your  father  was  right,  my  girl,  though  he  appears  to  have 
forgotten  some  of  his  own  teachings.  Let  that  simple  distich 
be  ever  your  motto ;  and,  my  word  for  it,  you'll  not  find  it  far 
out  of  the  way.  I  know,"  said  Mr.  Humphreys,  "  for  I've  tried 
it." 

"  There  is  no  lack  of  opportunities  here  for  the  cultivation 
of  at  least  one  of  these  virtues,"  observed  Violet,  looking  at 
the  sleek  and  ruddy  countenance  of  the  serving  man,  and  then 


A    NEW    HOME.  161 

at  the  plants.  "  Such  employment  must  be  exceedingly  bene- 
ficial to  the  health." 

"  You  are  a  lover  of  flowers,  then  ?" 

"  Who  is  not,  sir  ?     To  me,  nature  is  ever  preferable  to  art." 

"  I'll  be  sworn  you  love  poetry,  too ! — and  you  need  not  fear 
but  you  shall  have  ample  opportunity  for  the  gratification  of 
both  your  propensities.  But,  come — come  along  with  me ; 
and  I'll  give  you  a  lesson  or  two  in  botany,  and  endeavor  to 
explain  to  you  the  nature  and  organization  of  those  beautiful 
objects,  which  you  admire  so  much  at  a  distance." 

And  Mr.  Humphreys  seized  a  small  garden  hoe  and  a  rake, 
and,  bidding  Violet  follow  him,  wandered  off  to  another  part 
of  the  garden. 

The  hour  which  succeeded  to  this  was  a  little  era  in  Violet's 
existence.  Mr.  Humphreys  was  evidently  an  accomplished 
botanist,  and  he  entered  into  the  labor  of  explaining  to  his 
young  friend  the  characters  of  the  different  plants  which  came 
under  his  observation,  the  names  for  the  different  sections  of 
those  plants,  and  the  laws  by  which  they  were  governed,  with 
an  earnestness  which  proved  to  her  that  the  old  gentleman 
considered  it  no  displeasing  task.  While  they  were  in  the 
midst  of  their  studies,  in  which  Violet  had  embarked  with 
great  interest  and  zeal,  a  servant  came  to  tell  them  that  break- 
fast was  waiting;  and  on  returning  to  the  cottage,  which  was 
quite  an  architectural  bijou,  in  its  way,  they  found  a  table  set 
for  three  upon  a  little  platform  or  piazza,  facing  the  lawn  and 
river.  As  they  approached  the  dwelling,  Violet  wondering  all 
along  who  could  be  the  third  person  that  was  to  join  them  in 


162  VIOLET,   THE     CHILD     OF    THE    CITY. 

their  repast — a  staid,  matronly  looking  woman,  in  a  cap,  and 
very  plainly,  but  neatly  attired,  stepped  out  upon  the  piazza, 
and  the  young  stranger  was  forthwith  introduced  to  Mrs 
Marston,  Mr.  Humphreys'  housekeeper. 

If  that  morning  meal,  simple  and  plain  as  it  was,  did  not 
pass  off  pleasantly,  it  was  no  fault  of  Mr.  Humphreys ;  for  the 
old  gentleman  appeared  to  be  possessed  of  a  fund  of  anecdote, 
and  even  Mrs.  Marston,  notwithstanding  the  natural  quietness 
and  gravity  of  her  demeanor,  could  not  help  smiling  occasion- 
ally at  the  heartiness  with  which  Violet  laughed  at  her  pro- 
tector's witticisms.  There  was  but  one  drawback  upon  her 
happiness,  and  that  was,  that  her  father  could  not  be  there  to 
participate  in  her  feelings. 

Mr.  Humphreys,  however,  had  procured  him  an  entrance 
at  an  hospital  sustained  by  private  benevolence  in  the  city, 
and  had  promised  to  do  something  for  Lyle's  advancement 
•when  he  got  well  again. 

To  Violet,  that  night,  the  Old  Homestead  began  to  loom 
up  in^the  distance,  brighter  than  ever. 


THE    MARRIAGE    OF    CONVENIENCE.  163 


CHAPTER -XX. 

THE    MARRIAGE    OF    CONVENIENCE. 

LORD  SOUTHDOWN — the  personage  whose  recent  arrival 
had  formed  the  staple  of  conversation  for  the  party  of  young 
bloods  mentioned  in  a  preceding  chapter — was  what  you 
might  call  a  favorable  specimen  of  the  more  youthful  of  the 
English  aristocracy ;  not  one  of  those  water-eyed,  pale-faced, 
half-developed  beings,  whose  proceedings  attract  in  an  equal 
degree  the  attention  and  the  ridicule  of  all  London ;  but  a 
tall,  well-shapen,  healthy  young  fellow,  of  prepossessing 
appearance,  and  manly,  unaffected  bearing,  whose  acquire- 
ments extended  beyond  the  breaking  in  of  a  horse,  or  the 
drinking  of  immoderate  quantities  of  bad  French  wines. 
Well-versed  in  the  literature  of  his  own  age,  as  well  as  of 
those  which  had  preceded  it,  he  could  sustain  a  conversation 
in  a  manner  to  render  it  interesting  to  his  hearers;  and 
long  acquaintance  with  the  best  of  English  society  had 
imparted  to  his  manners  an  ease  and  polish  which  many  a 
neophyte  in  fashion  would  have  given  a  lock  of  his  hair  to 
imitate.  In  dress,  Lord  Southdown  was  elegant,  without 
being  opposed  to  taste ;  and,  though  he  had,  undeniably,  a 
proper  idea  of  his  position,  yet  he  did  not  think  it  necessary 
to  acquaint  the  world  (as  many  fools  do)  with  that  weak 


164  VIOLET,  THE    CHILD    OP    THE     CITT. 

point  in  his  character.  When  we  have  said  thus  much,  we 
have  said  nearly  all ;  for,  alas !  Lord  Southdown,  though  only 
in  his  twenty-fourth  year,  was  but  an  automaton — whose 
daily  duties  lay  in  eating,  drinking,  and  sleeping,  like  the  rest 
of  folks,  but  scarcely  anything  more.  He  frequently  bestowed 
an  alms,  but  not  out  of  any  truly  generous  impulse — simply 
because  it  put  him' to  too  much  trouble  to  refuse.  He  had,  in 
fact,  but  little  genuine  feeling  within  so  prepossessing  an 
exterior,  and  all  the  bright  glances  and  languishing  looks  that 
assailed  him  fell  to  the  ground  as  harmless  as  so  many 
wooden  arrows,  which  we  see  used  by  children  in  their 
sports. 

For  the  rest,  Lord  Southdown  had  a  ready  flow  of  wit, 

. 

delighted  in  sarcasm — when  his  game  was  worth  the  powder 
— could  carry  on  a  flirtation  with  any  of  Eve's  daughters  after 
the  most  approved  manner,  and,  what  was  of  far  greater  con- 
sequence than  anything  beside,  he  was  immensely  wealthy  ! 

Therefore,  there  was  quite  a  fluttering  of  hearts  and  rib- 
bons, when  it  was  announced  that  the  distinguished  young 
foreigner,  Lord  Southdown,  was  about  to  improve  an 
acquaintance  with  the  most  eligible  and  select  of  New  York 
society.  ^ ., ~ 

His  earliest  proceeding  was,  of  course,  to  cultivate  the 
acquaintance  of  the  Benedicks,  whose  great  wealth  raised 
them  as  nearly  to  his  own  level  as  it  was  possible  for  any  one 
to  approach,  without  the  adornment  of  actual  rank.  Julia, 
whose  fashionable  education  had  progressed  in  the  most  rapid 
and  astonishing  manner,  and  who  remembered  Lord  South- 


165 


down  as  a  child,  having  accompanied  her  father  in  one  of  his 
voyages  to  Europe,  was  the  first  to  fall  in  love  with  him.  Her 
imagination — distorted  out  of  its  natural  bent  by  constant  inter- 
course with  travelled  apes — dwelt  continually  upon  the  raptur- 
ous idea  of  having  a  nobleman  for  a  husband,  and  of  being  escort- 
ed about  among  the  proudest  circles  of  society,  in  the  larger 
European  cities,  as  my  Lady  Southdown.  As  for  the  estab- 
lishment which  she  had  pictured  to  herself,  the  most  aristo- 
cratic families  ia  Great  Britain  would  have  shrunk  at  once 
into  utter  insignificance  by  the  comparison. 

It  may  well  be  imagined  that  Mr.  Benedick's  ambition  was 
excited  at  the  brilliant  prospect ;  and,  as  for  his  daughter, 
there  was  no  family  within  the  entire  metropolis  worthy  of 
her  patronage,  and  many  well-meaning,  inoffensive  person- 
ages found  themselves  cut  in  consequence. 

For  some  months,  young  Southdown  carried  on  his  inno- 
cent flirtation  with  Julia — who  had  grown  to  be  a  really 
beautiful  woman — until,  at  length,  he  began  to  find  himself 
more  deeply  interested  than  he  had  at  first  bargained  for ; 
and  he  was  fain  to  fly  from  the  dangerous  snare  set  for  him 
by  the  dazzling  eyes  of  the  coquettish  beauty.  It  was,  there- 
fore, with  a  feeling  of  dismay  and  misgiving  that  the  Bene- 
dicks heard  him,  one  evening,  announce  his  intention  of  leav- 
ing their  delightful  abode,  for  the  purpose  of  proceeding  on 
his  tour  towards  the  south. 

There  were  two,  however,  to  whom  this  intelligence  afford- 
ed infinite  delight ;  these  were  no  other  than  the  ferocious 
Major  Dabster,  U.  S.  A.,  and  the  tender-hearted  little  fop, 


166  VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     OF    THE    CITT. 

already  known  to  our  readers  under  the  romantic  and  some- 
what high  sounding  title  of  Pinkerton  Podge.  Each,  there- 
fore, grinned  his  delight  in  his  own  peculiar  way,  but  said 
nothing ;  while  the  clever  Cousin  Minns,  finding  all  his  vast 
borrowing  calculations  upset  by  this  unexpected  news,  looked 
cadaverous,  and,  turtle-like,  withdrew  within  himself  for  the 
remainder  of  the  evening. 

But,  poor  Julia — we  will  not  attempt  to  describe  her  feel- 
ings !  Yet,  all  hope  was  not  lost ;  and,  whenever  she  found 
herself  tete-a-tete  with  Lord  Southdown,  behind  the  ample 
window  curtains  of  the  drawing-room,  or  in  some  corner 
remote  from  the  rest  of  the  company,  she  held  her  breath, 
and  strove  to  ease  the  painful  throbbing  of  her  heart,  in  the 
hope — growing  each  hour  more  vague  and  indistinct — that 
the  young  lord  might  have  something  particular  to  say  to  her. 
But  in  vain  did  she  afford  him  every  opportunity  of  touching 
the  delicate  subject ;  his  lordship  was  "  up  to  snuff,"  and 
placed  far  too  high  a  value  upon  his  'personal  liberty,  to 
suffer  himself  to  be  made  the  dupe  of  a  woman's  wiles,  at  his 
tender  age. 

There  was  no  help  for  it,  however ;  Lord  Southdown  yawn- 
ingly  said  that  he  really  must  go,  and — Lord  Southdown  went. 

Then  commenced  a  scene  of  reproach  and  recrimination, 
which  must  have  been  quite  refreshing  to  the  parties  engaged 
in  it. 

"  Silly  girl,"  exclaimed  the  almost  distracted  mother,  as  the 
family  party  sat  alone  in  the  brilliantly  decorated  drawing- 
rooms,  after  the  departure  of  the  company.  "  You  have  lost 


THE  MARRIAGE  OF  COXVEXIENCE.          16*7 

an  opportunity  such  as  falls  in  the  way  of  few  young  ladies  of 
fashion.  We  shall  become  the  butt  of  all  the  haut  ton  of  New 
York  for  this  unfortunate  slip  that  you  have  made." 

"  My  dear  mamma — it  was  not  my  fault ;  I  did  my  best  to 
— to  arouse  a  kindred  feeling  in  his  breast,  I'm  sure,"  replied 
Julia,  who  looked  as  though  she  was  ready  to  burst  into  tears. 

"  But  this  is  always  the  way,"  continued  the  disappointed 
mother ;  "  one  is  certain  of  having  one's  fondest  aspirations 
disappointed,  just  as  everything  appears  to  be  coming  to  an 
ultimatum? 

"  He  certainly  seemed  interested  in  me,"  said  Julia — who 
could  not  avoid  smiling  at  her  mother's  indiscriminate  use  of 
words. 

"  Interested,  child  ?  If  the  young  puppy's  conduct  wasn't 
next  door  to  proposing,  I  don't  know  what  could  be.  But 
he'll  get  punished  one  of  these  odd  days  with  all  his  finesse" 

"  You  do  not  suppose,  mother,  that  he  will  mention  us 
abroad,  in  connection  with  this  subject  ?"  asked  Julia,  nervously. 

"  Let  him !"  retorted  the  indignant  matron,  with  a  look  of 
defiance — "  let  him,  if  he  dares — that's  all !  Thank  heaven, 
there's  such  .a  thing  as  law  in  this  world ;  and  if  the  puppy 
presumes  to  cast  any  imputations  upon  us,  he'll  soon  find 
himself  in  limbo,  I  warrant." 

"Tut,  tut !  Jane,"  said  Mr.  Benedick,  who  had  been  absorbed 
until  now  in  a  reverie — gazing  at  the  figures  formed  by  the 
coals  in  the  grate,  until  his  sombre  thoughts  were  put  to  flight 
by  the  discovery  among  them  of  a  family  picture,  in  which  he 
distinctly  saw  Lord  Southdown  leading  his  daughter  to  the 


168  VIOLET,   THE     CHILD     OP    THE     CITY. 

altar.  "  Tut,  tut !  this  language  after  all  may  be  uncalled  for. 
We  all  know,  my  dear,  that  the  young  lord's  object  in  visiting 
this  country  was  to  inspect  its  beauties,  and  observe  everything 
that  he  might  deem  worthy  of  remark.  In  a  few  months, 
doubtless,  he  will  return,  and  make  an  offer  of  his  hand. 
Alliances  between  families  of  our  standing,  my  dear,  are  not 
contracted  suddenly.  Indeed,  it  would  derogate  from  our 
dignity  to  transact  such  matters  in  a  hurry.  The  vulgar  only 
set  such  examples." 

"  He  may  set  as  many  samples  as  he  pleases,"  returned  Mrs. 
Benedick,  pettishly ;  "  but  we  won't  be  drawn  suddenly 
into  any  alliance — it's  not  to  be  borne  by  people  of  our 
position — all  I  want  is  fair  and  open  dealings — and  I'll 
have  'em." 

As  this  formidable  argument  of  his  wife's  was,  happily, 
unanswerable,  Mr.  Benedick  merely  ejaculated :  "  Oh,  ay ! — to 
be  sure !"  and  was  about  to  relapse  into  his  former  reverie, 
when  a  series  of  piercing  screams,  from  the  direction  of  the 
library,  aroused  him  from  his  apathy. 

''  It's  only  that  child,  Alice,"  remarked  Mrs.  Benedick,  lis- 
tening for  a  repetition  of  the  sounds,  which,  however,  were  not 
repeated.  "  Something  has  frightened  her,  I  suppose — just  as 
/  was  frightened,  when  I  was  engaged  in  the  peroration  of 
the  "  Three  Spaniards."  What  a  delightful^ frightful,  mysteri- 
ous book  that  was  !  Have  you  read  it,  Julia  ?" 

"  Not  that  I  remember,  mamma,"  replied  Julia,  listlessly ; 
"who  was  it  by?" 

"  By  one  Mrs.  Otranto,  I  believe,   child  I    Oh !  she's  a 


THE     MARRIAGE     OF     CONVENIENCE.  169 

powerful  writer,  Mrs.  Otranto — all  over  trap-doors  and  secret 
passages !" 

At  this  moment,  Mr.  Benedick,  who  had  left  the  room  at 
the  commencement  of  this  interesting  conversation,  appeared 
at  the  door,  looking  as  pale  as  a  sheet,  and  appearing  to  be 
agitated  by  some  mysterious  emotion. 

"  She's  gone  !  I  can  find  her  nowhere — our  Alice !" 
he  exclaimed,  rather  wildly. 

"  Gone  !"  shouted  Mrs.  Benedick,  starting  fiercely  up  from 
the  heavily-stuffed  Boston  rocker,  in  which  she  had  been 
sitting.  "  Why,  let  the  base  creature  go  then !  let  her  go, 
like  an  ingrate  that  she  is,  from  the  family  she  has  so  long 
disgraced  by  her  presence.  What  else  could  be  expected 
from  the  company  she  kept  ?" 

"  Yes,  gone  ;  but  not  with  her  own  consent,  I  fear,"  replied 
Pryce,  in  a  wandering,  vacant  manner,  strangely  opposed  to 
the  usual  imperturbability  of  his  -demeanor.  "  When  I 
entered  the  library  all  was  darkness;  but,  lighting  a  lamp,  I 
proceeded  to  scrutinize  the  room.  The  great  arm-chair  was 
overturned,  as  if  by  violence ;  the  little  articles  of  embroidery, 
upon  which  Alice  had  been  employed,  were  scattered  about 
upon  the  floor;  and,  near  the  spot  where  she  had  been 
sitting,  I  found — " 

"  A  miniature,  of  course." 

"Tnis!" 

And  Mr.  Benedick  held  up  to  the  view  of  his  wife  and 
daughter — a  black,  mysterious  looking  article,  of  which  it 
could  hardly  be  said  that  it  had  any  shape  at  all,  and  which 

8 


370  VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     OF    THE     CITr. 

bore  a  singular  resemblance  to  an  old-fasbioned  coal-scuttle, 
rescued  from  the  ruins  of  a  conflagration.  In  fact,  it  was 
•what  might,  with  propriety,  have  been  demonstrated  a  shock- 
ing bad  bonnet ! 

Mrs.  Benedick  started  suddenly  away  from  the  horrid  object, 
pressed  her  hand  upon  her  temples,  and  uttering  a  hysterical 
exclamation,  fell  in  a  swoon  upon  an  adjacent  sofa. 

The  real  cause  of  Mr.  Benedick's  emotion  was  contained  in 
a  small  scroll  of  paper,  which  he  had  found  upon  the  library 
table,  and  which  bore  the  following  words — alas !  too  compre- 
hensible to  him  for  whom  they  were  intended : 

"  Bask  yet  a  little  longer  in  the  deceptive  sunshine  which 
your  exertions  have  created  !  A  few  brief  months  will  still  be 
granted  you  ;  but  the  hour  is  at  hand  when  the  wronger  and 
the  wronged  shall  be  confronted" 

Weeks  passed  away,  and  Benedick,  after  a  few  ineffectual 
attemps  to  discover  what  had  become  of  Alice — not  that  he 
was  particularly  ambitious  of  her  society,  but  fearing  that  she 
was  in  possession  of  a  secret,  the  divulging  of  which  would 
have  been  attended  with  very  unpleasant  consequences  to 
himself — gave  up  the  search  in  despair,  and  endeavored  to 
persuade  himself  that  all  was  not  as  bad  as  he  expected. 
Still,  however,  despite  of  his  unusual  carelessness,  a  certain 
vision  would  constantly  obtrude  itself  upon  his  meditations, 
and  his  dreams  were  t  troubled  with  unpleasant  images. 
Under  pretence  of  following  the  example  of  the  London 
aristocracy,  but  really  from  the  dread  that  he  might  utter  in 
his  sleep  words  that  he  would  not  have  uttered  to  living 


THE  MARRIAGE  OF  COKVENIENCK.          l7l 

being  for  Ins  life,  he  had  caused  a  separate  sleeping  apartment 
to  be  fitted  up  for  himself  and  thus  his  time  was  passed  in  a 
variety  of  vague  apprehensions  which  soon — too  soon — began 
to  render  existence  a  burthen  to  him. 

Such  was  the  condition  of  the  rich  man's  conscience, 
•when  he  received  a  temporary  relief  by  the  unexpected 
return  of  Lord  Southdown,  from  his  brief  southern  tour. 
The  fact  was,  the  young  lord  had  been  unable,  notwithstand- 
ing his  most  arduous  exertions,  to  banish  from  his  thoughts 
the  image  of  the  fascinating  Julia,  and  he  had  at  length 
returned,  post  haste,  to  offer  up  his  hand,  and  rank,  and 
riches,  upon  the  resplendent  altar  of  that  young  lady's 
vanity. 

Then  what  a  triumph  was  it  for  the  Benedicks.  Those 
who  had  made  sneering  remarks  upon  the  disappointment  of 
that  ambitious  family,  consequent  upon  the  young  nobleman's 
sudden  flight,  looked  sheepish,  and  began  to  talk  less  of  other 
people's  affairs,  and  more  of  their  own ;  while  Major  Dabster, 
U.  S.  A.,  grew  to  be  ten  times  as  insulting  as  usual,  and 
offered  snuff  to  his  late  rival,  Pinkerton  Podge,  to  show  that 
he  bore  no  malice,  whatever  other  people  might  think  of 
him.  As  for  Cousin  Minns,  his  relative  had  promised  to  set 
him  up  in  business  if  matters  took  the  desired  turn  ;  and,  in 
a  few  days  that  amiable  young  man  was  seen  dashing  along 
Broadway,  the  master  of  an  elegant  tandem — purchased  upon 
the  strength  of  the  cool  twenty  thousand  which  his  uncle  had 
loaned  him. 


172  VIOLET,    THE    CHILD    OF   THE   CITT. 

In  twelve  months,  Cousin  Minns  failed ;  but,  lie  still  kept 
the  tandem. 

The  wedding  was  all  that  could  be  desired  ;  the  most  aris- 
tocratic and  exclusive  church  in  New  York  had  been  selected 
as  the  scene  of  the  imposing  ceremony,  and  the  most  fashion- 
able clergyman  in  the  parish  engaged  for  the  occasion.  The 
organist  and  singers  were  on  a  par  with  all  the  other  arrange- 
ments, and  everything  was  "  pomp  and  circumstance " 
within  that  crimson-cushioned,  wilton-carpeted,  and  highly- 
gilded  edifice.  Amid  the  heavy  peals  of  the  organ,  which 
many  thought,  however,  quite  uusuited  to  the  operatic  music 
which  had  been  selected  for  it,  the  bridal  party  entered ;  a 
thousand  whispered  remarks,  such  as  :  "  Do  you  think  so  ?" 
"Oh!  decidedly!"  "Not  enough  silver  in  the  wreath!" 
"  Interesting  only — "  "  Enormously  rich  they  say."  "  What 
a  distingue  air  he  has  !"  immediately  ran  round  the  church  ; 
and  then,  amid  the  profoundest  silence,  the  "  Gorgon  knot," 
as  Julia's  mother  persisted  in  terming  it,  was  tied,  and  Pryce 
Benedick,  the  American  merchant,  was  father-in-law  to  a 
lord! 


"Adieu,  for  ever,  to  the  comforts  of  single  blessedness," 
Lord  Southdown  wrote  home  to  his  friends,  as  soon  as  the 
excitement  and  novelty  of  married  life  had  somewhat  sub- 
sided on  his  part  (on  that  ef  Julia  it  had  not  yet  com- 
menced). "  I  have  taken  unto  myself  a  wife,  discarded  all 
my  bachelor  habits,  and  intend,  hereafter,  to  live  a  quiet,- 


THE  MARRIAGE  OF  CONVENIENCE.          1*73 

sober,  and  retired  life,  with  none  for  my  companion  but  that 
gentle,  lovely,  and  unsophisticated  being,  whose  sole  delight  is 
in  the  enjoyment  of  my  society !" 

"Do  you?'1''  thought  Julia,  as  her  husband,  in  the  candor  of 
his  honest  nature,  read  to  her  the  letter  of  which  the  above  is 
an  extract.  "  Not  if  my  inclinations  are  consulted  in  the 
matter." 

The  first  thing  which  opened  the  young  lord's  eyes  to  the 
true  character  of  her  whom  he  had  made  choice  of  as  com- 
panion for  life,  was  her  extravagance  in  matters  appertaining 
to  dress,  and  which  she  indulged  in  with  such  an  utter  lack 
of  what  he  called  taste,  as  to  excite  his  irrepressible  disgust. 

They  were  passing  the  "  honey-moon"  at  the  country-seat 
of  Mr.  Benedick ;  and  Julia,  surrounded  by  a  tribe  of  milli- 
ners and  mantua-makers,  was  getting  ready  the  dresses  in 
which  she  intended  to  make  her  debut  among  the  fashionable 
circles  of  the  English  metropolis.  Lord  Southdown  looked  at 
all  these  preparations,  and  said  nothing ;  but  he  inwardly 
determined  that,  come  what  would,  she  should  not  make  her 
appearance  in  his  company,  in  certain  of  the  dresses  which 
she  had  selected,  at  any  of  the  aristocratic  houses  in  London 
or  Paris. 

One  month  flitted  rapidly  away,  and,  at  the  expiration  of 
that  period,  Julia's  haughty  and  imperious  disposition  began 
to  make  itself  manifest.  She  did  a  number  of  things  in 
direct  opposition  to  her  husband's  stated  wishes  ;  and,  on  one 
occasion,  attempted  to  "  ride  over  him  rough-shod,"  as  the 
saying  is;  but,  here  she  found  that  she  had  not  rightly 


174  VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     OF    THE    CITY. 

estimated  Lord  Southdown's  character.  Julia  had  expressed 
her  intention  of  calling  upon  a  certain  family,  of  whose  mem- 
bers, individually  and  collectively,  Lord  Southdown  had  by 
no  means  a  very  high  opinion.  Her  husband  hinted  that  she 
had  better  discontinue  their  acquaintance,  as  it  was  one  he 
did  not  like,  and  gave  his  reasons — which,  to  use  an  Irish- 
ism— were  very  reasonable.  Lady  Southdown  differed  in 
opinion  with  his  lordship. 

"  But,  my  dear,"  said  Lord  Southdown,  "  I  am  up  to  my 
ears  to-day  in  writing,  and  the  least  you  can  do  is  to  postpone 
this  visit  until  some  future  time." 

No  ;  she  had  her  mind  set  upon  going  to-day,  and  go  she 
would,  if  she  had  to  go  alone.  His  lordship  very  quietly  laid 
down  his  pen,  which  he  had  at  that  moment  been  using,  and 
took  in  his  own  the  uplifted  hand  of  the  irate  beauty,  while 
he  looked  into  her  eyes  with  a  cool,  but  severe  expression, 
under  which  her  own  involuntarily  quailed. 

"  Julia,"  said  he,  sternly,  but  in  a  subdued  tone  of  voice, 
"  you  are  a  deep  girl,  and  I  give  you  credit  for  your  shrewd- 
ness ;  but,  you  have  mistaken  your  man ;  and,  here  on  this 
spot,  and  for  the  first  and  last  time,  I  tell  you  that  such  con- 
duct will  not  answer.  Go  directly  to  your  room,  throw  aside 
those  idle  jewels,  which  here  are  superfluous — for  there's  no 
one  to  admire  them — and  come  to  me  at  dinner-time  dressed 
plainly,  as  you  know  that  I  prefer  to  see  you  dressed.  I  am 
by  this  time  well  aware  that  it  was  not  for  love — not  for 
myself — that  you  married,  and  though  I  shall  not  oppose  your 
pleasures,  so  long  as  they  .ire  kept  within  propor  bounds,  y<;t 


THE  MARRIAGE  OF  CONVENIENCE.          175 

I  shall  always  exercise  my  authority  as  a  husband,  when  I  find 
you  disposed  to  overlook  my  wishes  and  defy  my  power. 
See  to  it !" — and  Julia,  trembling  like  an  aspen,  and  conscious 
that  her  husband,  ever  kind  and  indulgent,  was  in  the  right, 
glided  from  the  library  in  which  this  scene  had  taken  place, 
and  going  straight  to  her  chamber,  turned  the  key  in  the 
door,  and  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears. 

A  few  moments  only  had  passed,  when  she  heard  a  gentle 
knock,  and  as  she  opened  the  door,  Lord  Southdown  entered, 
and  took  both  her  hands  in  his  own.  "  Nay,  my  Julia,"  ho 
said,  "  dismiss  those  tears ;  I  was  more  harsh  than  I  should 
have  been — I  freely  own  it;  but  I  was  troubled  about  certain 
matters  of  business  just  at  that  moment,  and — " 

"  Say  no  more,  Frederick,"  she  answered,  casting  her  arms 
about  his  neck,  "  you  are  forgiven  !" 

Better  for  Lord  Southdown  had  he  remained  in  the  library ; 
for  these  two  little  episodes  gave  Julia  an  insight  into  her  hus- 
band's disposition,  which  she  did  not  fail  to  improve  on  many 
subsequent  occasions.  "  When  subjected  to  command,"  she 
thought,  "  he  is  iron ;  but,  by  coaxing,  I  can  make  him  do 
anything." 

And  she  was  right. 

The  result  of  this  second  interview  was  that  Julia  did  go 
down  to  dinner — albeit  there  was  no  one  there  to  admire  her 
— in  her  diamonds  and  silver  circlet ;  and,  that  she  did  pay 
the  intended  visit,  with  Lord  Southdown,  half  ashamed  of  his 
weakness,  as  an  attendant  cavalier — a  repentant  husband 
playing  cicisbeo  to  his  wife  ! 


176  VIOLET,   THE    CHILD    OP   THE    CUT. 

•  t 

The  next  week  they  sailed  for  London,  and  the  Benedicks 
returned  to  town.  But,  oh  !  how  dull  aud  gloomy  seemed  the 
old  house  now !  With  no  one — not  even  Alice — to  enliven 
the  dreary  solitude  of  its  echoing  halls.  So  calm — so  quiet — 
so  intensely  sombre  ! — like  a  dwelling  from  which  a  funeral 
train  had  just  departed.  A  wonderful  change  came  over 
Pryce.  Now  that  the  excitement  attendant  upon  his  daughter's 
marriage  was  at  an  end,  the  remembrance  of  the  occurrences  of 
that  fatal  night  on  which  his  ward  had  disappeared — fatal, 
because  it  had  convinced  him  that  it  was  in  the  power  of  one 
fellow-being  to  crush  him  at  a  blow — recurred  to  him  with 
tenfold  violence.  He  lost,  by  degrees,  all  relish  for  his  busi- 
ness— the  art  of  making  money  no  longer  occupied  his 
thoughts — his  meditations  by  day  were  filled  with  phantoms, 
wrapped  in  winding-sheets,  with  wounds  from  which  the  blood 
profusely  flowed — and  his  dreams  by  night  were  of  the  same 
ghastly  and  uncomfortable  nature.  Stocks  kept  on  rising,  nnd 
real  estate  went  up,  but  that  did  not  banish,  even  in  the 
smallest  degree,  the  terrors  which  oppressed  him.  Strange  to 
say,  for  once  in  his  life,  Pryce  Benedick  found  no  consolation 
in  his  money ! 

Two  weeks  after  the  departure  of  his  daughter,  Mr.  Benedick 
returned  with  his  family  to  Westchester. 


A     SEASON     IN     PARIS.  177 


CHAPTER  XXL 

A    SEASON    IN   PARIS. 

IF  the  reader  had  placed  himself  about  midway  upon  the 
public  road  leading  through  a  fine  champagne  country  from 
Kouen  to  Paris,  on  a  certain  pleasant  morning  in  August, 
185 — ,  he  might  have  been  gratified  by  the  sight  of  a  huge, 
lumbering  diligence,  drawn  by  four  lean,  half-starved  horses, 
slowly  toiling  their  way  towards  an  ancient-looking  and  dila- 
pidated hotel,  which  opportunely  made  its  appearance  at  a 
certain  intersection  of  the  highway.  The  passengers,  on  this 
occasion,  were  less  numerous  than  usual,  and  had  a  sleepy, 
dismal,  discontented  look — the  natural  result  of  poor  accom- 
modations and  broken  slumbers.  While  the  conducteur 
caused  the  clumsy  vehicle  to  come  to  a  pause,  for  the  pur- 
"pose  of  changing  horses,  the  inmates,  satisfied  that  it  was 
fully  daylight,  began  to  shake  themselves  in  their  seats, 
re-arrange  their  disordered  attire,  and  apply  themselves  to  a 
readjustment  of  their  several  positions.  One  drew  a  great 
woollen  night-cap  from  his  head,  which,  thereupon,  pre- 
sented the  appearance  of  an  extensive  plantation  of  sea- 
weed, and  replaced  it  by  a  glazed  travelling  cap.  Another, 
after  several  convulsive  efforts,  emerged  from  a  heap  of 
cloaks,  etc.,  in  which  he  had  been  entombed  throughout 

8* 


178  VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     OF    THE    CUT. 

the  night ;  and,  staring  wildly  about  him,  as  if  trying  to  col- 
lect his  rambling  thoughts — which  were  just  then  in  a  small 
"  two  pair  back  "  in  the  Rue  St.  Honore,  Paris,  with  five 
small  children,  and  a  fubsy  wife — stretched  his  arms  and  legs 
out  as  far  as  he  could  get  them  at  opposite  angles,  to  the 
inconvenience  of  his  fellow-passengers,  and  emitted  a  yawn 
which  reminded  you  of  the  crater  of  Etna.  An  old  maiden 
lady  who  had  been,  in  unconscious  innocence,  reposing  with 
her  head  in  the  lap  of  a  red-nosed  bachelor,  awoke  of  a  sud- 
den, and,  with  a  shriek  like  the  whistle  of  a  child's  penny 
trumpet,  snatched  up  a  bunch  of  false  curls,  which  had  fallen 
from  her  grizzly  caput,  and  withdrew  to  a  distance — the 
flustered  bachelor  begging  "  milles  graces  "  for  not  awaking 
her,  and  accidentally  removing  his  wig  with  his  night-cap,  in 
the  midst  of  a  profusion  of  bows  which  he  was  making, 
thereby  imparting  to  himself  the  resemblance  of  a  monkey. 
The  gentleman  called  for  "  eau  sucree"  another  wanted  cafe 
for  himself  and  lady,  and  a  surly,  insolent  Englishman,  who 
had  been  drawn  within  himself,  like  a  turtle,  during  the 
entire  route,  unexpectedly  emerged  from  his  shell,  and- 
growled  forth  an  order  for  "  eau  de  vie,  toute  suite,  and  be 
d_d  to  ye !" 

Two  only  of  the  passengers  remain  undescribed :  these  were 
a  lady  and  gentleman,  both  very  youthful  in  appearance,  who 
occupied  a  seat  by  themselves  at  the  farther  end  of  the  dili- 
gence. The  gentleman  was  stationed  at  the  right  hand  of 
the  lady,  and  leaned  moodily  against  the  side  of  the  vehicle, 
while  his  companion,  on  her  part,  had  taken  up  a  similar 


A     SEASON     IN     PARIS.  179 

position,  leaving  between  them  a  considerable  vacancy,  which, 
however,  no  one  seemed  ambitious  of  filling. 

This  unsociable  couple  were  my  Lord  and  Lady  South- 
clown,  proceeding  to  Paris,  to  pass  the  coming  season,  after  a 
brief  visit  in  England  to  those  of  my  lord's  relatives  and  per- 
sonal acquaintance,  who  had  not  fled  thither  before  them. 
Although  so  brief  a  period  had  elapsed  since  the  date  of  their 
marriage,  Lord  Southdown  had  discovered,  long  ere  this,  that 
his  wife  set  a  far  higher  value  upon  his  riches  and  upon  tho 
title  which,  as  a  consequence,  went  with  them,  than  upon 
himself,  and  had  for  some  time  ceased  to  take  any  material 
interest  in  her  proceedings,  suffering  her  to  visit  such  com- 
pany as  she  saw  fit  to  honor  with  her  confidence,  and  to  keep 
whatever  hours  she  pleased — while  he,  relapsing  rapidly  into 
his  bachelor  habits,  began  to  find  renewed  pleasures  in  his  horses 
and  hounds,  his  books,  and  his  old  array  of  sociable  companions. 
He  rejoined  his  favorite  club,  which  he  had  cut  on  being  mar- 
ried— having,  at  that  time,  encouraged  an  insane  idea  that  he 
would  find  sufficient  gratification  in  the  society  of  his  wife,  to 
render  the  dispensing  with  such  luxuries  no  very  painful  ope- 
ration— and  was,  in  point  of  fact,  almost  as  much  a  single  man 
as  he  had  been  before  he  took  the  fatal  step  by  which  he  had 
committed  himself  for  life.  He  occupied  apartments  separate 
from  those  of  his  amiable  and  accomplished  partner,  and 
sometimes  passed  days  without  seeing  her — as  her  hours  for 
taking  meals  depended  altogether  upon  the  time  at  which  she 
came  home  on  the  previous  morning.  Julia,  in  short,  was 
involving  herself  in  a  perfect  maelstrom  of  fashionable  dissi- 


180  VIOLET,    THE     CIIK.D     OF    THE     CITV. 

pations,  and  going  to  the  utmost  limits  of  extravagance — for 
she  was  determined  not  to  be  outvied  in  splendor  by  any  of 
her  aristocratic  acquaintances.  She  had  not  bestowed  suffi- 
cient attention  upon  the  details  of  European  society  to  per- 
ceive that  there  were  different  classes  among  the  wealthy,  as 
well  as  among  the  poor.  That,  while  one  of  these  classes 
was  distinguished  only  for  its  frivolity  and  unbounded  license, 
the  other,  in  quiet  but  becoming  dignity,  stood  aloof,  disdain- 
ing ostentation  and  display,  and  delighting  rather  in  the  trea- 
sures of  the  mind,  than  in  the  giddy  pleasures  which  charac- 
terized its  opposite.  This  is  the  true  society  of  cities — the 
really  exclusive  circle,  where  the  only  passport — far  above 
all  considerations  of  rank  and  riches — is  mental  superiority  ; 
the  only  aristocracy,  the  aristocracy  of  intellect !  Everybody 
knows  how  extensive  this  class  has  grown  to  be  among  us : 
how  all  the  conversation  among  our  great  people  runs  upon 
subjects  which  instruct  rather  than  amuse,  and  how  the  com- 
pany of  authors,  artists,  and  professional  men  of  every  grade, 
without  regard  to  their  means,  is  eagerly  sought  after,  and,  in 
fact,  are  the  chief  ornaments  and  objects  of  attraction  of  their 
large  assemblies.  A  fuller  description  is,  therefore,  needless. 
But,  aliens  !  for  the  jaded  animals  have  had  their  places 
filled  by  fresh  ones,  the  Englishman-turtle  has  finished  his 
brandy-and-water,  and  retreated  once  more  into  his  shell, 
and  the  conducteur  has  signified  to  the  driver  that  all  is 
ready.  Again  the  vehicle  has  taken  a  start,  and  rumbles 
along  through  the  same  flat  landscapes,  luxuriant  meadows, 
and  fertile  wheat-fields — where  the  laborers  are  already 


A     SEASON     IS     PARIS.  181 

beginning  to  emulate  the  sun.  The  day  passes  without  the 
occurrence  of  anything  worthy  of  interest,  most  of  the  passen- 
gers having  books  in  their  hands,  and  towards  nightfall  they 
come  in  sight  of  Paris — the  wonderful  city — which  no  reader 
of  history  can  approach  without  feeling  emotion  of  some  descrip- 
tion. As  for  Julia,  her  heart  leaps  up  into  her  throat  with 
expectation,  and  she  leans  so  far  out  of  the  vehicle,  that  one 
of  the  passengers,  the  little  Frenchman  with  the  weedy  hair, 
becoming  alarmed  for  her  safety,  taps  mi  lor  on  the  knees, 
and  in  broken  English  calls  his  attention  to  the  fact. 

"  Oh  !  'tis  of  no  consequence  ;  she  can  take  care  of  herself," 
rejoins  mi  lor,  and  immediately  returns  to  dozing,  heedless 
alike  of  the  gorgeous  sunset,  and  of  the  multitudinous  sounds 
which  proclaim  that  they  are  nearing  Paris. 

Oh !  what  visions  thronged  into  Julia's  mind,  when  she 
really  found  herself,  in  a  private  conveyance,  rattMng  over  the 
pavements  of  the  French  metropolis  !  She  thought  not  of  the 
Richelieus  and  the  Condes — the  Bonapartes  and  the  Bourbon 
warriors — the  eminent  statesmen,  famous  scholars  and  peerless 
soldiers  who  had  aided  in  imparting  to  it  a  name ;  but,  her 
fancy  was  full  of  brilliantly-lighted  rooms  and  splendid  con- 
quests, and  all  that  she  had  read  and  heard  of  the  gayety  and 
magnificence  of  this  proud  capital,  came  unsolicited  to  her 
memory. 

Her  husband  having  engaged  apartments  beforehand  at 
Meurices,  they  drove  immediately  to  that  fashionable  estab- 
lishment, and  for  several  days  Lady  S.  did  not  venture  abroad 
— being  engaged  with  dress-makers  and  tradesmen,  to  the 


182  VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     OF     THE     CITT. 

exclusion  of  all  other  matters.  Cards  were  showered  upon 
the  newly-wedded  couple  by  families  of  distinction,  who  onW 
paused  to  ascertain  whether  Julia  came  of  wealthy  parents 
before  they  decided  to  receive  her,  and  a  few  calls  subse- 
quently exchanged ;  while  the  interim  was  passed  by  Lord 
Southdown  at  cafes  and  other  places  of  public  resort,  in  the 
society  of  intimate  friends.  He  smoked  cigars,  drank  a  great 
deal  of  wine,  played  billiards,  and  often  lost  large  sums  at 
gambling.  For  a  week  or  so,  it  is  true,  when  she  found 
sufficient  leisure,  he  played  the  chaperon  to  his  lovely  wife, 
made  her  "  at  home "  among  his  acquaintances,  took  her  to 
see  the  Hotel  des  Invalides,  the  Tuileries,  the  Louvre,  the 
palace  of  the  Bourbons,  1'Ecole  Militaire,  the  Cathedral  of 
Notre-Dame  (which  Julia  remembered  chiefly  through  one  of 
Victor  Hugo's  pleasant  fictions),  and,  in  fact,  all  those  cele- 
brated edifices  which  have  become  as  by-words  in  the  books 
of  modern  travellers.  But  Julia  gazed  yawningly  at  all  the 
wonders  which  met  her  gaze,  and  was  far  more  enchanted  by 
her  visit  to  certain  elegant  clothing  and  jewelry  establish- 
ments, to  which  her  husband,  with  all  the  patience  and  good- 
humor  imaginable,  next  conducted  her.  He  had  determined, 
at  any  rate,  that  she  should  soon  get  tired  of  sight-seeing. 

Nor  was  he  disappointed.  Before  she  had  been  in  Paris 
many  weeks,  Julia  had  become  so  accustomed  to  its  ways, 
that  she  could  now  dispense  almost  altogether  with  the 
services  of  her  husband.  Occasionally,  one  of  those  interesting 
family  scenes,  which  impart  such  an  agreeable  diversity  to 
married  life,  would  occur  between  them — for  Julia  could  not 


A     SEASON     IN  -PARIS.  183 

brook  any  interference  with  her  pleasures,  and  when  he  chose 
to  be  resolute,  both  having  pretty  high  tempers  of  their  own, 
they  made  quite  a  time  of  it  together. 

One  evening,  however,  Lord  Southdown  came  home  to  his 

O* 

•wife  vith  a  cloud  upon  his  brow,  which  made  her  tremble  for 
the  consequences.  He  said  nothing  during  supper-time  ;  but, 
as  Julia  was  on  the  point  of  leaving  the  room  for  the  purpose 
of  making  her  toilet,  he  laid  his  hand  upon  her  arm,  and 
begged  her  attention  for  a  few  moments. 

"I  understand,  Lady  Southdown,"  he  said,  "that  tickets 
have  been  sent  us,  inviting  our  attendance  at  the  grand  bal 
costume,  to  be  given  one  evening  next  week,  by  Madame 

P .  Is  it  asking  too  much  of  you,  to  request  that  for  this 

once,  you  will  comply  with  my  earnest — nay,  my  urgent — 
desire,  and  forbear  to  honor  this  occasion  with  your  presence  ?" 

"  My  dear  Frederick,  you  must  be  crazed !"  she  rejoined,  in 

amazement.  "  Not  go  to  Madame  P 's  soiree  ?  Why,  it 

will  be  the  ball  of  the  season,  and  not  to  be  present  at  it 
argues  either  that  one  has  not  been  invited,  or  else  that  one  is 
too  poor  to  lay  out  a  little  money  on  a  showy  costume.  Ask 
me  something  within  the  bounds  of  reason — do  !" 

''  It  would  appear,  Lady  S.,  that  nothing  which  I  may  take 
it  into  my  head  to  ask  is  reasonable,  according  to  your  view 
of  things.  In  this  instance,  however,  I  have  an  insuperable 
reason — one  that  concerns  my  reputation,  Julia — for  dissuad- 
ing you  from  going  to  Madame  P 's." 

"  It's  useless  talking,"  responded   Julia,  resolutely ;    "  my 


184  VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     OF     THE     CITT. 

mind's  made  up,  and  I  am  resolved  that  I  won't  alter  it  for 
anybody !" 

"  Then,  Julia,"  said  Southdown,  sternly,  and  almost  fiercely, 
"  as  your  husband,  whom  you  have  sworn  to  ever  honor  and 
obey,  and  whom  you  have,  thus  far,  neither  loved,  honored,  nor 
obeyed,  I  command  you  not  to  go  to  Madame  P 's  ball !" 

"  Really,  sir,  you  are  getting  to  be  a  pleasant  companion  !" 
replied  Julia,  bristling  up ;  "  but  I  am  not  to  be  controlled  or 
thwarted  after  this  fashion  !  I  have  promised  Lady  Clavers 
that  I  would  go  to  Madame  P 's  ball,  and  go  I  will !" 

She  was  about  flouncing  out  of  the  room  in  a  terrible  passion, 
when  Southdown  caught  her  by  both  the  arms  with  an  iron 
grasp,  which,  all  at  once,  convinced  her  of  her  own  feebleness, 
for  while  'twas  on  her  she  was  unable  to  stir ;  and,  gazing  into 
her  face,  with  a  countenance  in  which  a  dozen  fierce  passions 
seemed  contending  for  the  mastery,  he  exclaimed,  in  a  voice 
hoarse  from  excitement: 

"Go,  then,  inconsiderate  and  heartless  woman,  and  b<*  • 
along  with  you  my  parting  words  :  so  sure  as  you  do  vent 
in  despite  of  my  wishes,  to  this  detestable  soiree,  so  sure  will 
you  live  to  rue  the  step !  Mark  me !  I  am  not  jesting !  The 
honor  of  our  name  hangs,  Julia,  on  this  single  night ;  and  I 
have  laid  commands  on  you,  which,  disobeyed,  cannot  fail  to 
bring  ruin  and  eternal  misery  upon  us." 

He  cast  her  away  from  him  as  he  spoke,  and,  throwing 
himself  at  full  length  upon  a  sofa,  hid  his  face  in  his  hands, 
•while  Julia  hurried,  trembling,  from  the  room.  Once,  only, 


A    SEASON     IX     PARIS.  185 

she  paused  upon  the  threshold ;  and,  looking  back  upon  tho 
drooping  figure  of  her  husband,  half  resolved  to  return  to  hia 
side,  cast  her  arras  about  his  neck,  and  confess  her  error.  But 
the  demon,  Pride,  prevailed,  and  she  hurried  on  to  her  own 
apartment. 

Ah !  had  she  but  obeyed  that  single  impulse ! 

Southdown  remained  for  a  few  minutes  sitting  in  the  posi- 
tion in  which  she  had  left  him — his  whole  frame  quivering 
with  suppressed  emotion.  At  last,  raising  his  face — which 
resembled  that  of  a  demon — he  exclaimed  furiously  :  "  But  he 
shall  not  triumph  again  !  It  is  not  yet  too  late !  I  may  meet 
him,  perchance" — and  seizing  his  hat,  dashed  like  an  uncaged 
lion  from  the  apartment,  and  out  into  the  street.  Lucky  that 
he  did  not  encounter  his  wife,  or,  in  the  blindness  of  his  pas- 
sion, he  would  have  struck  her  ! 

Reaching  a  certain  well-known  co/e,  that  he  was  in  the  habit 
of  frequenting,  Southdown  abruptly  entered,  and  found  himself, 
almost  speechless  with  rage,  among  a  group  of  fashionably- 
dressed  men ;  one  of  whom — a  tall,  elegant  fellow,  with  a  face 
of  almost  transparent  beauty,  and  a  delicate,  black  moustache 
— he  singled  out,  by  a  phrenzied  motion  of  his  hand. 

"  A  moment  since,"  said  he,  "  I  endured  from  this  personage 
an  insult,  which  I  suffered,  for  the  time,  to  pass  unchallenged. 
I  now  return  for  the  express  purpose  of  informing  the  Count  do 
Mireval  that  I  demand,  upon  the  instant,  satisfaction  for  his 
insolence !" 

The  count,  who  had  been  looking  on  at  a  game  between 


186  VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     OF    THE     CITY. 

two  friends,  cast  a  glance  of  scorn  at  the  foaming  young  Eng- 
lishman, and  replied  with  insulting  coolness  : 

"  My  good  friend  forgets — I  have  made  a  bet  wlfich  will 
compel  me  to  defer  the  honor  of  offering  myself  as  a  target  for 
his  bullets,  until  a  certain  interesting  occasion  shall  have  passed 
over.  Then  I  am  at  your  disposal,  mi  lor  Southdown  !" 

He  therefore  touched  his  hat  politely  to  Southdown,  and 
replaced  his  cigar.  Finding  that  the  Count  was  resolute,  the 
latter  replied:  "As  you  will,  sir;  I  shall  be  on  nettles  until 
that  day  has  arrived,"  and  then,  bowing  slightly  to  the  com- 
pany, he  retired. 

It  is  about  five  o'clock  on  the  succeeding  morning,  as  South- 
down—his hair  dishevelled,  his  countenance  ghastly  pale,  his 
eyes  blood-shot  and  wandering,  and  his  clothes  in  the  greatest 
disorder — staggers,  in  a  state  of  hopeless  drunkenness,  to  his 
apartments — the  victim  of  a  mistaken  notion  of  honor  and  an 
extravagant  wife ! 


THE    BAL     COSTUME,    AND     ITS    RESULTS.  187 


CHAPTER   XXII.  - 

THE    BAL    COSTUME,  AND   ITS    RESULTS. 

THE  residence  of  Madame  P was  one  of  the  most  mag- 
nificent in  all  Paris  :  the  rooms  were  large  and  spacious,  and 
there  were  wings  enough  connected  with  the  principal  build- 
ing to  lift  it  from  its  foundation,  and  transport  it  wherever  the 
owner  might  desire — provided  they  had  been  the  proper  sort 
of  wings.  She  had  galleries  devoted  exclusively  to  paintings, 
by  the  first  masters,  living  as  well  as  dead  ;  and  halls  arranged 
expressly  for  soirees  musicales  and  tableaux  vivants.  A  library 
she  also  had,  but  it  had  not  been  much  troubled  since  the 
death  of  her  late  husband,  who  had  been  a  great  booksman 
and  antiquarian  in  his  day.  His  wife,  however,  inheriting  a 
disposition  not  very  similar  to  his  own,  had  bestowed  his  vene- 
rated store  of  relics,  including  an  Egyptian  mummy,  upon 
some  museum  or  other,  and  transformed  his  formerly  desolate 
dwelling  into  an  abode  of  mirth  and  gaiety — not  that  she 
"  loved  her  husband  less,  but  that  she  loved  fashion  more !" 

Madame  P was,  herself,  a  pretty,  dapper  little  woman, 

of  not  more  than  thirty-five,  who  had  been  tied  down  during 
the  earlier  portions  of  her  life,  to  a  man  old  enough  to  be  her 
grandfather,  but  whose  riches  hai  rendered  him  a  "desirable 
match."  We  will  not  say  that  she  hailed  his  death  as  a  joyful 


188  VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     OF     THE    CITY. 

event ;  but  only  a  few  weeks  had  elapsed  before  the  gloomy 
edifice — lately  dreaded  and  shunned  by  everybody,  except  a 
select  circle  of  Monsieur  P 's  intimate  friends,  whose  dis- 
course was  of  bones  and  fossils,  and  the  great  mastodon — was 
filled  with  workmen,  under  whose  hands  it  underwent  a  rapid 
transmogrification.  And  it  was  now  one  of  the  gayest,  best 
frequented,  and  most  fashionable  dwellings  in  the  metropolis. 
Not  to  be  on  visiting  terms  with  Madame  P — • — ,  was  not 
to  be  one  of  the  fashionable  world  of  which  she  formed  a  part, 
and  as  it  was  Lady  Southdown's  desire,  on  all  occasions,  to  vie 
with,  if  not  to  eclipse,  her  neighbors,  it  may  readily  be  ima- 
gined that  to  relinquish  the  honor  of  being  one  of  Madame 

P ?s  guests  would  have  been,  for  her,  a  matter  of  no  small 

difficulty.  After  much  consideration  of  the  matter,  therefore, 
she  concluded  that  she  would  attend  the  ball  at  all  hazards, 
without  letting  her  husband  know  anything  about  it ;  for  what 
possible  harm — she  argued — could  there  be  in  such  a  step  ? 
As  for  her  husband,  his  excitement  when  the  ball  was  made 
the  subject  of  discussion  was,  she  forced  herself  to  believe,  as- 
sumed for  the  sake  of  making  an  exhibition  of  his  authority, 
and  if  he  asked  her  any  more  questions  about  it,  she  could 
easily  satisfy  the  "dear,  good-natured  man,"  by  assuring  him 
that  she  had  abandoned  the  intention  !  Alas !  she  little  knew 
her  husband.  He  had  mingled  sufficiently  with  the  world  to 
know  when  to  credit,  and  when  to  distrust ;  and  all  her  arti- 
fices were  too  shallow  to  escape  his  practised  eye.  But  ho 
said  nothing,  and  calmly  awaited  the  approach  of  the  eventful 
night. 


THE     BAL    COSTUME,    AND     ITS    RESULTS.  189 

It  came  at  last ;  and  Julia,  who  had  thrown  away  an  entire 
day  in  framing  lies  for  the  purpose  of  blinding  her  husband  as 
to  her  true  intentions,  was  delighted  to  find  that  he  had 
engaged  himself  with  some  friends,  and  did  not  approach  her 
during  the  whole  afternoon.  She  therefore  completed  her 
toilet  in  excellent  humor  ;  and,  calling  her  carriage,  hastened 
to  keep  her  appointment  with  Lady  Clavers,  under  whose  pro- 
tection it  had  been  arranged  that  she  was  to  go. 

On  this  important  occasion,  the  extensive  mansion  of 

Madame  de  P was  one  blaze  of  light  and  glitter.  Crowds 

were  assembled  without  the  gate  to  criticise  the  costumes  of 
the  guests,  as  they  alighted  from  their  different  vehicles,  and 
to  list  to  the  strains  of  music  which  incessantly  rose  and  fell 
upon  the  ear.  Few,  even  among  the  most  noble  and  aristo- 
cratic families  of  Paris,  could  surpass  Mad.  P ,  in  the 

magnificence  and  cost  of  their  entertainments,  and  her 
visiters  were,  consequently,  the  highest  in  the  land. 

As  she  entered  the  already  thronged  apartments,  and  her 
dazzled  eyes  took  in,  at  a  single  view,  the  gorgeous  panorama 
which  suddenly  broke  upon  her  enraptured  sight,  with  its 
profusion  of  rich  and  magnificent  dresses,  and  the  numerous 
ornaments,  in  keeping  with  the  costumes,  which  had  been 
judiciously  interspersed  about,  for  the  purpose  of  adding  to 
the  grand  coup  d'oeil,  her  heart  for  an  instant  grew  faint 
within  her,  and  the  next  moment  she  found  herself  seized  by 
the  hand  by  Lady  Clavers,  who  was  intent  upon  introducing 
her  to  the  giver  of  the  entertainment. 

Julia  found,  in  Madame  P ,  a  clever,  sociable,  little 


190  VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     OF    THE     CUT. 

body,  whose  unassuming  manner  immediately  made  her  feel 
at  home ;  and,  through  the  exertions  of  this  lady,  she  soon 
found  herself  surrounded  by  a  host  of  men  of  all  ranks,  ages, 
and  callings,  eagerly  aspiring  for  the  honor  of  her  hand. 

Before  allowing  herself  to  be  committed  in  the  dance,  how- 
ever, Julia  took  the  tour  of  the  rooms,  in  the  company  of 

Madame  P ,  and  her  friend,  Lady  Clavers.     And  truly 

brilliant  was  the  scene,  which,  on  every  side,  mot  her  asto- 
nished vision — although  long  practice  in  the  arts  of  dissimu- 
lation had  taught  her  to  conceal  from  others  any  such  vulgar 
emotions.  She,  therefore,  gazed  upon  the  splendors  which 
surrounded  her,  with  all  the  nonchalant  composure  of  one 
accustomed  to  such  exhibitions,  and  so  well  did  she  enact  the 
part,  that  she  succeeded  in  deceiving  Lady  Clavers  herself. 

Every  description  of  costumes  appeared  to  have  been 
brought  into  requisition,  for  the  present  occasion.  Cardinal 
Richelieu,  in  spite  of  his  gray  hairs,  walked  with  all  the  ease 
and  grace  of  a  polished  courtier  by  the  side  of  the  heroic 
Charlotte  Corday ;  the  grave  and  dignified  Charlemagne 
cracked  jokes  with  the  Duchess  de  la  Valiere  ;  Abelard  and 
Heloise  carried  on  a  long  flirtation  in  obscure  nooks  and  cor- 
ners ;  Catherine  de  Medicis  listened  to  a  long  dissertation 
upon  modern  fashions  from  the  Cardinal  de  Retz ;  Joan  of 
Arc  abandoned  her  ruder  calling  for  a  contest  of  wits  with 
Quasimodo,  and  Telemachus  and  Mentor  strode  silently 
about,  surveying  all.  England  was  also  represented  in  her 
Raleighs,  her  Elizabeths,  her  Coaur  de  Lions,  and  her  Charles 
Second.  Every  country  under  the  sun  was,  in  fact,  represented 


THE     BAL     COSTUME,    AND     ITS     RESULTS.  191 

• — the  fancy  of  a  great  many  swaying  towards  the  east,  in 
consequence  of  which  there  were  Sultans  and  Sultanas, 
Pachas  of  three  tails,  and  Pachas  of  none ;  and  slaves  in  any 
abundance.  Julia  herself  went  attired  as  Amy  Robsart ;  and 
as  she  wore  no  mask,  her  beauty  attracted  great  attention. 
Never  had  she  witnessed  so  great  a  display  of  jewelry  and 
ornament ;  the  entire  riches  of  the  city  seemed  to  be  concen- 
trated about  her. 

Their  scrutiny  at  length  was  over,  and  Julia  was  beginning 
to  think  of  making  selection  of  somebody  as  a  partner  for  the 
first  set,  when  a  group  approached,  among  whom  Madame 

I' seemed  to  recognize  an   intimate  acquaintance.     He 

was  a  man  seemingly  about  thirty  years  of  age,  whose  face 
and  figure  seemed  eminently  calculated  to  grace  a  scene  of 
the  present  character,  and  rendered  him  much  sought  after 
among  the  ladies,  with  whom  he  was  evidently  a  great 
favorite — making  remarks  and  taking  liberties  which  in 
an  another  would  not  have  been  tolerated  for  an  instant. 
Yet,  notwithstanding  all  this,  the  Count  de  Mireval — for  he  it 
was — had  the  most  unenviable  reputation  in  the  world  ;  as  a 
libertine  and  a  gambler,  he  was  notorious  ;  and  he  had  taken 
the  lives  of  heaven  knows  how  many  of  his  fellow-creatures  in 
duels — for  he  was,  what  is  generally  termed,  a  dead-shot. 
Stories  were  also  told  which  implicated  him  in  certain  sinister 
acts,  but  to  which  no  one  of  all  his  acquaintance  would  give 
credence ;  for  the  Count  de  Mireval  was  very  rich,  and  very 
handsome ;  very  bold,  and  very  accomplished  ;  and,  those  very 


192  VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     OF    THE    CITY. 

vices  which  would  have  condemned  him  as  a  villain  and  a 
blackleg,  in  the  judgment  of  any  candidly-disposed  person, 
were  tortured  into  virtues  by  his  friends.  By  his  prowess  in 
duelling  he  only  proved  to  them  his  bravery ;  gambling,  in 
that  circle  of  society  of  which  he  was  the  idol,  was  only  a 
manly  amusement,  in  which  even  ladies  (heaven  save  the 
mark !)  sometimes  participated  ;  and,  as  for  his  affairs  with  the 
women,  what  man  that  had  not  been,  at  some  period  of  his 
life,  concerned  in  intrigue  ?  Such  were  the  arguments  with 
Avhich  the  friends  of  the  Count  de  Mireval  sought  to  gloss  over 
his  "  little  failings." 

The  Count  had  chosen  the  dress  of  a  courtier  of  the 
sixteenth  century,  as  being  best  calculated  to  set  off  his  pliant 

figure ;  and,  as  he  drew  near  to  Madame  P ,  glittering 

with  gold  and  jewels,  and  arrayed  in  his  most  fascinating 
smiles — in  the  estimation  of  the  bewildered  Julia,  she  had 
never  seen  so  handsome  a  man.  Mireval  was  not  unconscious 
of  the  sensation  which  he  created,  and  inwardly  determined 
to  improve  it. 

It  is  almost  unnecessary  to  add  that  the  Count  de  Mireval 
Avas  the  first — indeed,  almost  the  only  one — upon  whom  Julia 
bestowed  the  honor  of  her  hand.  Wherever  she  went 
throughout  the  evening,  he  was  always  at  her  side,  whisper- 
ing in  her  ears  those  honied  words  of  flattery  which  are  so 
gratifying  to  a  maiden's  vanity.  His  smile  was  so  inexpres- 
sibly sweet,  when  intended  for  her — his  voice  was  so  low  and 
so  musical — his  glance  so  earnest  and  impassioned,  that  Julia 


THE     BAL    COSTUME,    AND     ITS     RESULTS.  193 

felt  her  heart  sometimes  throbbing  violently  beneath  her 
embroidered*  bodice,  and  for  the  time  being,  almost  lost  sight 
of  the  distressing  fact  that  she  was  married. 

And  when,  at  last,  the  night  had  waxed  late,  and  most  of 
the  maskers  had  removed  their  masks,  and  there  was  a  lull 
in  the  dancing,  Mireval,  whose  spirits  seemed  never  to  flag, 
proposed  a  series  of  games,  among  a  select  circle  of  his  wor- 
shippers, and  into  which  Julia  entered  with  unabated  zest — 
innocent  of  the  peculiar  remarks  which  were  going  the  rounds 
at  her  expense.  Once,  indeed,  a  low  voice  whispered  her  to 
beware,  but  she  looked  upon  it  as  the  playful  freak  of  some 
wittily  inclined  person,  and  heeded  it  not.  At  last,  a  game 
of  Mireval's  own  invention  was  introduced,  in  which  the  indi- 
vidual who  may  incur  a  forfeit,  was  obliged  to  favor  some 
lady,  whom  he  most  fancied,  with  a  kiss ;  and  Mireval  was 
upsn  the  point  of  claiming  this  delightful  recompense  at  the 
lips  of  the  agitated  Julia,  when  a  rude  hand  suddenly  thrust 
her  back,  and  met  the  Count  so  closely,  that  their  persons 
touched,  and  then  recoiled.  The  intruder  was  attired  as  a 
student  of  by-gone  times,  in  a  dress  of  unrelieved  black  ;  but 
the  mask  which  had  hidden  his  features  being  removed,  tho 
pale  and  distorted  features  of  Lord  Southdown  glared  defiance 
upon  one  who,  he  felt,  was  henceforth  to  be  his  rival. 

"  Monsieur,  the  Comte  de  Mireval,  has  lost  his  bet !"  he 
exclaimed,  sarcastically,  and  with  difficulty  repressing  his 
rage.  "  The  kiss  with  which  you  boasted  you  should  taint 
the  lips  of  a  virtuous  wife  has  not  been  bestowed.  The  forfeit 
•was  your  Countship's  life,  and  I  am  come  to  claim  it !" 

9 


194  VIOLET,    THE    CHILD   OF   THE    CITY. 

"J/i  lor  Southdown'a  jealousy  renders  him  forgetful  of  the 

respect  due  to  Madame  P ,  as  his  hostess,"  returned 

Mireval,  pale,  but  perfectly  collected ;  "  at  another  time  and 
place,  we  can  better  discuss  the  subject." 

"  The  sooner  still  the  better  !"  was  Southdown's  reply  ;  and, 
drawing  the  arm  of  his  almost  fainting  wife  within  his  own, 
he  withdrew  from  the  scene  of  Mireval's  discomfiture.  A 
cabriolet  was  waiting  for  them  at  the  door ;  and,  at  a  sign 
from  Southdown  the  vehicle  was  driven  off  in  a  contrary  direc- 
tion to  that  which  they  should  have  pursued  to  gain  the  hotel. 
Julia,  quivering  with  apprehension,  would  fain  have  asked  her 
husband  what  were  his  intentions,  as  she  saw  that  they  had 
emerged  from  the  gloomy  streets  of  the  city,  and  were  rapidly 
leaving  Paris  behind  them ;  but  he  sat  in  one  corner  of  the 
cabriolet,  with  his  cloak  wrapped  closely  about  him,  and  with 
such  a  stern,  cold  air,  that  she  feared  to  address  him. 


WHAT   MARRIAGES   IN   HIGH   LIFE   OFTEN   COMB  TO.    195 


CHAPTER  XXIH. 

WHAT   MARRIAGES    IN   HIGH    LIFE    OFTEN    COME   TO. 

IT  was  sunrise,  and  laborers  were  proceeding  in  all  direc- 
tions to  the  fields  to  begin  their  daily  labor,  while  the  voices 
of  the  peasant  girls  were  already  to  be  heard  in  the  heavy- 
laden  vineyard,  before  the  cabriolet  made  a  pause.  Lord 
Southdown  then  directed  Julia — shivering  now  from  the 
effects  of  the  morning  air,  as  well  as  from  apprehension — to 
alight,  and  his  wife  found  that  they  had  stopped  in  front  of  an 
old  chateau,  which,  from  the  neglected  appearance  of  every- 
thing which  met  her  gaze,  was  rapidly  hastening  to  decay. 
An  aged,  gray-haired  domestic  appeared  at  the  gate,  in 
answer  to  their  summons ;  and.  after  much  fumbling  with  the 
rusty  lock,  succeeded  in  unclosing  it  to  give  them  admittance. 

"  Your  lordship  will  find  everything  in  the  best  of  order," 
said  the  porter,  with  a  peculiar  grin  on  his  shriveled,  yellow 
features  ;  "  it's  a  capital  place  for  a  young  couple  tq  pass  the 
honey-moon  in,  is  the  old  chateau — so  quiet  and  retired !" 

And  the  old  man  rubbed  his  hands  together,  like  one  in 
whom  all  vital  action  has  been  for  years  suspended,  and 
emitted  an  unpleasant  chuckle. 

"  A  very  appropriate  place  for  a  catacomb,"  Julia  thought, 


196  VIOLET,    THE    CHILD    OF   THE  OITT. 

as  she  surveyed  the  broken  and  dilapidated  edifice,  with  its 
unhinged  shutters  and  disordered  casements. 

"  Many's  the  youthful  pair  that  have  been  content  to  spend 
their  lives  here  ;  they  became  so  attached  to  the  place,"  con- 
tinued the  sneering  old  man,  leading  the  way  towards  the 
chateau. 

"  Peace,  doating  fool !"  exclaimed  Southdown,  pettishly,  as 
they  ascended  the  steps,  and  entered  one  of  the  melancholy 
drawing-rooms,  at  the  further  extremity  of  which  a  poor  apo- 
logy for  a  fire  was  vomiting  forth  volumes  of  unhealthy  smoke. 

"  You  do  not — you  do  not  say,  Frederick,"  ventured  Julia, 
when  they  were  at  length  left  to  themselves  in  this  dreary 
place,  "  that  it  is  your  intention  to  make  this  gloomy  abode, 
which  seems  to  have  been  created  expressly  for  winds  to 
whistle  through,  and  goblins  to  make  merry  in,  our  future 
house !" 

"  Your  Ladyship,"  rejoined  he?  husband,  coldly,  "  will  be 
pleased  to  consider  it  as  such,  so  long  as  suits  my  pleasure  to 
abide  in  it.  A  desert,"  he  added,  with  bitter  sarcasm,  "  should 
be  a  paradise  to  two  so  lately  united  and  so  happily  wedded 
as  ourselves." 

"  And  this  rigid  penance,  I  am  to  endure  for  the  fault  of 
another's,  committing,"  sobbed  Julia,  now  perfectly  humbled, 
though,  alas  !•  too  late ;  "  and  that  other  one  upon  whom, 
until  this  fatal  ball,  I  never  laid  my  eyes." 

"  You  may  well  call  it  fatal,  madam  ;  for  fatal  it  will  prove, 
I  sincerely  trust,  both  to  your  extravagance  and  your  over- 
bearing pride.  Ah !  Julia,  have  a  care ;  be  warned  in  time ! 


WHAT   MARRIAGES    IN    HIGH    LIFE    OFTEN    COME    TO.    10Y 

The  duration  of  your  confinement  in  this  chateau,  which  I 
have  leased  for  your  purpose,  will  depend  altogether  upon 
your  conduct,  while  in  it.  Endeavor,  therefore,  so  to  shape 
your  actions,  that,  when  we  return  to  the  world  we  inajrnow 
be  considered  as  having  quitted,  I  may  present  you  to  my 
friends  without  a  blush  of  shame  for  your  imprudences.  For 
the  present,  I  have  saved  you — at  the  risk  of  my  own  life, 
perhaps — from  a  fate  worse  than  any  pangs  death  can 
inflict  I" 

"You  are  severe  beyond  th^e  occasion,  sir,"  she  simply 
answered. 

"I  am  not  severe,  Julia;  I  am  only  just.  Did  I  not 
warn  you  of  this  accursed  ball  ?  Did  I  not  tell  you  in  so 
many  words  that  you  would  peril  my  honor  by  complying 
with  that  abominable  invitation  ?  And,  now,  behold  the 
result !  I  must  place  my  life  atfcthe  disposal  of  a  gambler, 
an'd  a  libertine,  who  has  insulted  me  in  that  point  dearest 
to  every  man  that  prizes  his  reputation  beyond  the  rattling  of 
a  box  of  dice — his  wife  !" 

"  I  have  done  wrong,"  said  Julia,  "  and  I  freely  acknow- 
ledge it ;  but  my  errors  were  of  the  head  rather  than  of  the 
heart,  and  why  retort  upon  them  thus  severely  ?" 

"  The  confession,  Julia,  does  you  credit,  though  it  might 
have  come  before ;  but,  as  for  hearts — an  article  of  which,  I 
fear,  you  know  but  little — think,  Julia,  how  bitterly  mine  has 
been  wrung  by  you,  and  how  slight  will  seem  the  punishment 
which  you  say  I  am  about  inflicting  upon  you  !" 

To  this  the  conscience-stricken  wife  had  no  reply  to  make  ; 


198  VIOLET,    THE    CHILD    OF   THE    OHT. 

and  Southdown  was  relapsing  into  his  usual  moody  silence, 
when  breakfast  was  announced ;  and  the  doors  of  the  room 
adjoining  being  thrown  open,  a  well-laid  table  was  discover- 
ed, toward  which  the  young  lord  conducted  his  lady.  Nei- 
ther ate  much,  for  the  events  of  the  preceding  night  had 
taken  away  the  appetites  of  both ;  and,  as  soon  as  the  simple 
meal  was  finished,  Southdown  pulled  a  bell,  which,  after  some 
delay,  brought  an  old,  wrinkled,  woman — wife,  as  it  seemed, 
to  the  porter,  who  had  opened  the  gate  to  them — tottering  to 
his  presence. 

"  Conduct  Lady  Southdown  to  her  apartment,"  he  said, 
briefly. 

"  But,  my  maid,  husband — where  is  my  maid  ?" 
"  This  good  woman  here,"  replied  Southdown,  "  will,  here- 
after, perform  those  functions  for  your  ladyship." 

"  Ay,  ay !"  said  the  cro^ne,  showing  her  toothless  gums, 
while  Julia  shrank  at  the  absurd  idea ;  "  I  have  played  tiring- 
woman  to  many  a  fine  lady  in  my  time.  I  know  a  thing  or 
two,  trust  me,  though  my  hand's  a  little  out  of  practice,  I 
own  1" 

The  old  crone  had,  by  this  time,  in  Julia's  estimation,  given 
ample  proof  of  her  capacities  as  a  tiring-woman,  for  tiresome 
enough  she  had  already  proved.  The  wife  looked  at  her  hus- 
band's face,  to  see  if  there  were  no  signs  of  relenting ;  but, 
all  was  gloomy  and  forbidding  there,  for  Southdown's  eyes 
were  fixed  upon  the  servant. 

"  You  will  find  little  trouble,  my  good  Jeanette,"  he  said, 
"  in  the  discharge  of  your  duties ;  her  ladyship's  wardrobe 


WHAT    MARRIAGES    IN    HIGH    LIFE   OFTEN    COME   TO.     199 

will  be  simpfe  in  the  utmost  degree  ;  and,  as  for  her  hair,  she 
•will  dress  that  herself.  She  admires  plainness,  and  detests 
gew-gaw  trappings,  such  as  your  modern  fine  ladies  are  in 
the  habit  of  wearing." 

Julia  winced  at  these  allusions,  for  she  saw  that  even  her 
wardrobe  was  to  undergo  a  thorough  revision.  But  she  said 
nothing;  and  followed  the  garrulous  old  woman  through 
the  long,  drear  entries  and  resounding  corridors  to  her 
"  room."  Here  no  luxuries  met  her  gaze ;  everything,  though 
comfortable,  was  cruelly  plain.  The  curtains  of  the  bed 
were  of  chintz,  and  not  a  sign  of  carpeting  adorned  the  floor. 
At  the  door  of  the  apartment,  she  dismissed  Jeanette,  telling 
her  that  she  should  not  require  her  services  till  night ;  and, 
locking  herself  in,  to  be  secure  from  intrusion,  she  gave  full ' 
vent  to  her  passions — storming,  and  weeping,  and  tearing  her 
hair  by  turns.  At  length  she  got  tired  of  this  amusement, 
and  betook  herself  to  the  examination  of  a  chest  of  clothes, 
which  lay,  with  the  lid  up,  where  she  could  not  avoid  seeing 
them.  They  were  neat  and  clean,  and  of  the  best  material ; 
but,  when  Julia  came  to  contrast  them  with  the  brilliant  robes 
of  Amy  Robsart,  which  she  still  retained,  she  became  so  dis- 
gusted, that  she  threw  them  violently  back  into  the  chest, 
and  resolved  to  go  down  to  dinner  in  that  costume,  rather 
than  submit  to  what  she  looked  upon  as  an  indignity.  A 
book-case,  filled  with  books,  next  attracted  her  attention ;  she 
went  to  it,  in  the  hope  of  finding  something  to  divert  her 
mind,  but  the  first  volume  which  she  opened  was  called  "  The 
Obedient  Wife  " — so  she  threw  it  upon  the  floor  in  a  rage,  and 


200  VIOLET,   THE     CHILD     Off    THE     CITY. 

slammed  the  door  of  the  book-case  with  such  violence  as  to 
,  shatter  several  panes  of  glass.  There  were  some  flowers, 
arranged  in  boxes,  in  one  of  the  windows,  looking  out  upon 
an  extensive  but  neglected  garden ;  but,  as  they  were  not  arti- 
ficial ones,  they  possessed  no  charms  for  the  high-bred  beauty. 
Dinner  was  announced,  at  last,  to  her  great  relief,  and  she 
descended,  fully  determined  to  give  his  lordship  a  piece  of  her 
mind ;  to  her  vexation  and  astonishment,  she  was  told  that 
he  had  been  gone  from  home  all  the  morning,  on  urgent  busi- 
ness, and  would  not,  probably,  be  back  until  night — perhaps, 
not  then.  No  one  being  by  to  observe  her  actions,  Julia 
made  a  pretty  hearty  meal,  and  then  ordered  Jeanette's  hus- 
band to  have  out  the  carriage,  as  she  wished  to  take  an  air- 
ing (her  real  intention  being  to  return  to  the  city,  and  con- 
sult her  friend,  Lady  Clavers,  as  to  what  should  be  done),  but 
old  Jean  only  shook  his  head,  and  replied,  with  a  smile  and  a 
shrug : 

"  Alas  !  your  ladyship,  we  have  no  carriage  here  ;  and,  if 
we  had,  I  fear  it  would  little  avail  you,  as  it  was  my  master's 
strict  order  that  you  were  not  to  stir  beyond  the  threshold — 
unless,  indeed,  your  ladyship  would  like  to  inspect  the 
garden." 

A  sickening  sensation  seized  upon  her  heart ;  she  merely 
remarked,  "Is  it  so?"  and  staggered,  rather  than  walked, 
back  to  her  room. 

"  J  am,  indeed,  a  prisoner !"  she  exclaimed,  and  burst  into 
a  flood  of  bitter,  scalding  tears. 

The  next  morning  Julia  met  her  husband  with  an  humbled, 


WHAT   MARRIAGES    IN    HIGH    LIFE    OFTKK    COMB   TO.     201 

half- repentant  air,  and  a  seeming  disposition  to  be  cheerful, 
which  (as  she  shrewdly  calculated),  did  not  fail  of  producing 
their  effect  upon  him.  She  wore  one  of  the  dresses  with 
which  he  had  provided  her,  and  which,  after  all,  she  found 
not  so  unbecoming  as  she  had  at  first  imagined ;  and,  for  the 
first  time  since  their  earliest  conversation  about  the  ball,  he 
relaxed  a  little  from  his  usual  taciturn  demeanor,  paid  her  a 
compliment  about  her  looks,  saying  that — 

"  Beauty  when  unadorned  's  adorned  the  most ;" 

and  retailed  to  her  a  little  scandal,  conveying  what  was  pass- 
ing in  town.  Any  reasonable  woman,  whose  better  intellect 
had  not  been  obscured  by  a  fashionable  bringing-up,  would 
have  felt  grateful  for  this  as  a  proof  of  her  husband's  returning 
confidence,  and  rewarded  it  accordingly.  But  Julia  had  been 
too  well  drilled  into  the  course  she  was  pursuing,  to  appreciate 
such  marks  of  favor  in  her  lord  ;  and,  therefore,  although  she- 
had  played  the  part  she  had  assumed  to  admiration,  she  did 
not  for  a  moment  cease  to  scheme  and  plot,  with  a  view  of 
obtaining  her  release  from  the  uncomfortable  espionnage  by 
which  she  was  surrounded. 

By  degrees,  strange  to  say,  she  began  to  take  an  interest  in 
the  labyrinthine,  wood-grown  garden,  and  half  her  time  was 
passed  in  solitary  rambles  through  its  lonesome  paths.  One 
pleasant  afternoon,  as  the  leaves  were  beginning  to  fall  from 
the  trees,  she  was  surprised,  while  walking  near  the  high  wall, 
which  separated  the  garden  from  some  neighboring  orchards, 
to  see  portions  of  the  stone,  which  was  in  a  very  crumbly  and 

9* 


202  VIOLET,    THE    CHILD    OF   THE   CITY. 

tottering  condition,  detach  themselves  from  the  rest,  and  come 
rolling  towards  her  feet.  A  head  immediately  appeared  above 
the  wall,  and,  in  a  few  seconds  more,  Adolphe,  Count  de 
Mireval,  was  at  her  feet,  begging  a  thousand  pardons  for  his 
abrupt  intrusion. 

That  night,  when  Southdown  returned  from  the  city, 
whither  he  had  gone,  day  after  day,  in  search  of  Mireval,  he 
found  the  cage  open,  and  the  bird  flown ! 

It  is  impossible  to  guess  what  arguments  the  Count  could 
have  used  to  persuade  her  to  such  a  step ;  but,  certain  it  is 
that  Julia  fled  with  him.  Lord  Southdown  posted  instancy 
to  the  city,  made  a  few  necessary  inquiries,  and  took  convey- 

• 

ance  for  a  certain  spot,  where  he  was  sure  of  overtaking  the 
guilty  couple.  For  Julia,  he  did  not  care  ;  his  principal  hope 
was  of  meeting  his  deadly  enemy,  the  Count  de  Mireval ;  and 
that  his  errand  was  not  one  of  mercy,  the  case  of  pistols 
which  he  carried  with  him  too  plainly  testified. 

Her  flight  had  been  so  sudden,  and  the  means  of  delivery 
so  unexpected,  that  Julia  hardly  bestowed  a  thought  upon  the 
step  she  had  taken,  until  they  had  reached  in  safety  a  little 
rustic  retreat,  owned  by  the  Count  de  Mireval,  in  the  forest  of 
Vincennes.  Here  he  used  every  effort  to  disgust  her  with  her 
husband,  and  render  her  enamored  of  himself.  True  he  had 
forfeited  his  word,  by  bringing  her  to  this  lonely  spot,  instead 
of  conducting  her  to  the  city ;  but,  iq  love  as  in  war,  every 
stratagem  is  lawful ;  and,  Julia,  after  all,  did  not  retain  her 
anger  long. 

It  was  on  the  second   day  after  her  flight,  and  she  was 


WHAT    MARRIAGES    IN    HIGH    LIFE    OFTEN    COME    TO.    203 

seated  upon  a  luxurious  divan  in  one  of  the  contracted  parlors 
of  the  little  villa,  playing  with  the  jetty  locks  of  her  com- 
panion-in-guilt,  when  a  footman  made  his  appearance,  and 
informed  the  Count  that  a  stranger,  habited  as  a  tradesman, 
wished  to  have  instant  conversation  with  him.  Unsuspicious 
of  anything,  Mireval  followed  the  man  to  the  gate  of  the 
lodge,  and  found  himself  confronted  by  the  indignant  Lord 
Southdown. 

"So!  my  brave  Count  de  Mireval,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  of 
bitter  taunt ;  "  although  your  valorous  legs  have  enabled  you 
to  escape  me  thus  far,  I  have,  at  last,  the  pleasure  of  knowing 
that  you  cannot  further  elude  me.  This  cool  assumption  of 
superiority  will  not  answer  for  me,  sir ;  both  in  wealth  and 
station,  I  am  your  superior,  and  you  cannot  choose  but  fight !" 

"  But,  my  dear  fellow,"  remonstrated  Mireval,  who  saw  that 
his  foe  was  dreadfully  in  earnest ;  "  this  is  neither  time  nor 
place,  and  my  weapons  are  not  at  hand." 

"  Do  not  let  that  apprehension  trouble  you,"  returned  South- 
down, with  ineffable  scorn  ;  "  I  have  weapons  with  me,  and  a 
better  time  and  place  could  not  be  chosen.  Come,  sir!  you 
are  a  dead  shot,  they  say ;  I  would  fain  try  how  far  your 
countship's  acquirements  extend." 

"  Madman !"  exclaimed  De  Mireval,  taking  one  of  the  pis- 
tols, "  if  it  must  be  so,  follow  me  to  yonder  copse.  I  have  no 
reason  for  doing  you  an  injury,  but — " 

Southdown  stamped  impatiently,  and  waved  him  on ;  and 
both  disappeared  within  the  shade  of  the  adjoining  trees.  A 


204 


moment  elapsed,  and  tvro  shots  were  heard  in  rapid  succession. 
Julia,  hearing  the  sounds,  instinctively  guessed  the  cause,  and 
hastened,  in  company  with  the  servants,  to  the  spot — where  a 
scene  was  revealed  which  almost  froze  her  blood  with  horror. 

Adolph  do  Mireval  was  lying  stiff  and  stark  upon  the  ground, 
where  he  had  fallen,  seemingly  without  a  groan.  A  few  paces 
from  him  lay  her  husband,  weltering  in  his  gore,  but  still 
alive.  The  better  emotions  of  Julia's  womanly  nature  were 
aroused.  She  remembered  Southdown's  invariable  kindness, 
and  the  coldness,  the  base  ingratitude  with  which  she  had  met 
all  his  advances,  wrapped  in  the  pursuit  of  her  own  selfish 
pleasures ;  and  she  would  have  knelt  beside  him,  and  helped 
to  staunch  the  blood  that  was  flowing  with  frightful  rapidity 
from  his  wounds.  But  he  waved  her  off,  and  raised  himself 
with  an  effort  upon  his  arm ;  his  lips  opened,  as  if  in  the  act 
to  speak,  and  a  faint  gurgling  sound  came  from  them,  in  the 
midst  of  which,  he  fell  back  upon  the  turf,  a  ghastly  and  dis- 
figured corpse  I 

We  pass  over  the  events  of  a  winter,  for  during  that  period 
nothing  occurred  particularly  deserving  of  mention.  Cast  off 
by  the  relatives  of  her  late  husband,  as  well  as  by  her  fashion- 
able friends  and  acquaintances,  Julia — restrained  by  a  latent 
sense  of  honor,  which  yet  lurked  within  her,  from  laying  claim 
to  any  of  the  effects  or  worldly  wealth  of  the  deceased — 
strangely  disappeared.  For  a  few  weeks,  a  rumor  obtained 
that  she  had  committed  suicide,  as  a  strange  woman,  whose 
body  had  never  been  found,  had  been  seen,  by  the  patrol,  to 


TTHAT    MARRIAGES    IN    HIGH    MFK    OFTEN    COME   TO.     20d 

cast  herself  into  the  Seine,  from  the  parapets  of  the  Pont  Neuf, 
one  night,  about  the  date  of  these  occurrences ;  but,  nothing 
respecting  her  fate  was  known,  and  in  a  very  short  time  she 
was  totally  forgotten  in  the  whirl  of  fashionable  amusements 
which  the  season  ushered  in. 


200  VIOLET,   THE     CHILD     OF    THE    CITY. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE    MAX    OF   FASHION. 

HITHERTO  Max  Benedick  had  played  a  very  minor  figure  in 
society,  and  it  is  probable  that  he  might  have  continued  to 
sustain  the  unimportant  part  nature  had  assigned  him,  if  a 
slight  accident  had  not  altered  the  current  of  the  young 
gentleman's  reflections.  He  was  standing  before  his  looking- 
glass  one  morning,  engaged  in  the  important  and,  to  him,  all- 
absorbing  operation  of  dressing,  at  exactly  eleven  o'clock, 
A.  M.  (the  occasion  was  of  such  a  nature  that  he  had  deemed 
it  worthy  of  being  noted  in  his  diary),  when  some  slight 
manifestations  upon  his  chin  which  he  had  not  before  observed 
caused  him  to  take  another  look.  There,  in  the  full  light  of 
day,  bold  and  prominent  to  view, Istood  three  small  hairs! 

The  first  thought  that  Max  had  ever  been  guilty  of  in  his 
lify  occurred  to  him  then.  The  successes  of  his  cousin  Minna 
and  Major  Dabster  among  the  bevy  of  distinguished  beauties 
who  formed  the  attraction  of  the  drawing-rooms  to  which  he 
had  access,  while  he  remained  comparatively  unnoticed — 
"  solitary  in  the  midst  of  thousands" — had  often  caused  him 
annoyance.  The  secret  now  flashed  upon  his  mind,  and  so 
vividly,  that  before  the  next  half-hour  had  elapsed  Max  was  on 
his  way  down  town,  with  an  advertisement  in  his  pocket,  cut 


THE     MAN     OF    FASHION.  207 

from  that  morning's  paper,  and  beginning  in  flourishing  style 
•with  some  such  words  as — "Have  you  used  my  onguent  ? 
No !  Then  why  don't  you  ?"  &c.  &c. 

How  assiduously  Max  cultivated  those  three  hairs !  How 
careful  Max  was  of  that  magic  bottle — the  modern  "  young 
man's  bosom-companion,"  as  it  might  be  called  !  Never  did 
artist  lavish  greater  pains  in  the  distribution  of  his  colors  than 
Max  in  the  laying  out  of  that  precious  ointment.  In  several 
weeks'  time  Max's  nether  face  resembled  the  down-covered  skin 
of  a  young'  gosling  ;  a  result  for  which  he  was  indebted  solely 
to  nature,  but  which  he,  with  the  infatuation  peculiar  to 
numerous  youthful  representatives  of  "  our  first  families,"  per- 
sisted in  attributing  to  the  hair-persuader. 

"  Let  them  resist  me  now,  if  they  dare  !"  thought  Max,  as 
he  surveyed  his  promising  crop  shortly  after  this  improvement 
became  manifest. 

The  little  man  threw  himself  energetically  into  society — he 
abandoned  his  old  taciturnity  and  talked  to  his  fair  friends 
with  as  much  perseverance  as  him  of  razor-strop  notoriety ;  he 
dressed  himself  up  until  he  looked  like  one  of  those  empty 
images  of  manhood  which  we  see  on  the  tailor's  clothes 
stretchers  in  our  daily  walks — but  all  to  no  purpose.  What 
could  his  paucity  of  wealth  in  the  hairy  line  effect,  compared 
with  the  magnificent  display  of  Minns,  Dabster  &  Co.?  In 
the  words  of  a  new  tragedy,  a  representation  of~  which  we 
were  so  oblivious  as  to  attend,  "  despair  began  to  gnaw  his 
very  soul,"  and  as  he  had  not  an  overstock  of  that  article  to 
boast  of,  despair  would  have  made  short  work  of  it,  had  it  not 


208  YIOLET,   THE     CHILD     OF    THE    CITT. 

been  for  Minns — who  volunteered  to  unriddle  the  Sphynxfor 
him. 

"  Hair  is  all  very  well  in  its  way,"  said  Minns,  in  the  course 
of  a  serious  conversation  with  Max  upon  the  subject,  "  but 
something  besides  that  is  necessary  to  set  a  man  forward  in 
the  good  graces  of  the  fairer  sex.  He  must  exhibit  some 
degree  of  familiarity  with  the  great  world,  and  affect  to  think 
lightly  of  things  that  are  every  day  passing  within  the  scope 
of  his  own  observation,  as  being  infinitely  inferior  to  what  he 
has  been  accustomed  to,  and,  on  that  account,  beneath  his 
notice.  This  makes  him  pass  current  for  something  greater 
than  he  really  is,  and  imparts  to  whatever  he  may  say  or  do 
a  kind  of  fascination  which  is  not  without  its  weight,  I  do 
assure  you.  I  have  tried  that  line  of  business  myself,  and  I 
know  its  value." 

"  But,  I  have  never  travelled,"  saidJMax,  with  a  desponding 
shake  of  the  head. 

"  Neither  have  I." 

"  What  ?  then  all  your  long  stories  about  Prince  Esterhazy, 
and  the  Marchioness  of  St.  Cloud,  and  the  diamond  snuff- 
box  " 

"  All  sham,  my  boy  :  as  sham  as  the  jewels  on  the  glitter- 
ing bauble  that  I  exhibit  in  commemoration  of  the  event." 

"  But,  at  least,"  said  Max,  "  you  know  as  much  as  if  you 
had  travelled,  while  I  don't  know  anything  about  what's 
going  on  among  the  nobility  and  gentry  over  the  water." 

"  You  can  read,  can't  you  ?"  asked  Minns,  with  something 
like  contempt  for  the  little  puppy  gleaming  in  his  eyes. 


THE    MAN     OF    FASHIOK.  209 

"  Of  course,  I  can.  But  I  never  did — much.  That  is," 
and  here  Max  could  not  help  coloring,  "  I  never  did." 

"  More's  the  pity.     But,  better  late  than  never.     You  must 
• 
immediately  undergo  a  course  of  reading." 

"  What  shall  I  read  ?" 

"Anything  in  the  foreign  way  that  you  can  get  hold  of." 

"  I  have  seen  a  book  called  '  Silliman's  Travels,'  in  father's 
library,"  said  Max.  "  I  suppose  that'll  do  as  well  as  anything 
else." 

"  Very  good,  I  dare  say :  but  young  ladies  are  too  apt  to 
identify  his  travels  with  geology,  and  the  antediluvian  period, 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  ,  No — you  must  eschew  Silliman, 
but  you  may  read  the  Court  Circular,  if  you  can  get  hold  of 
it,  and  Willis's  Travels — they'll  put  you  up  to  a  notion  or  two 
about  high  life ;  and  if  you  can  get  hold  of  a  book  of  the 
Peerage,  you'll  lose  nothing  by  it.  Never  mind  solid  things, 
my  boy ;  post  yourself  up  on  matters  relating  to  fashion  and 
the  opera ;  and  you'll  get  on  faster  than  you  have  any  idea." 

"  I'll  do  it,"  exclaimed  Max,  with  as  much  resolution  as  if 
he  had  been  on  the  point  of  swallowing  some  nauseous  dose. 
"  I'll  do  it,  let  it  cost  what  it  will." 

"  But,  reading  is  not  all,  either,"  continued  the  obliging 
Minns. 

"  Not  all  ?     What  else,  for  mercy's  sake  ?" 

"  Who  are  your  acquaintances  3" 

"  Why,  'pon  honor,  I  havn't  any,  except  yourself  and  the 
rest  of  us,  and  young  Soft  over  the  way,  and  one  or  two 
others." 


210  VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     OF     THE     CITS'. 

"  That's  awkward,"  said  Minns ;  "  but  even  that  difficulty 
may  be  got  over.  I  know  one  or  two  choice  fellows,  members 
of  some  of  the  first  families  abroad,  who  possess  wit,  intelli- 
gence and  blood — everything,  in  fact,  except  money,  and  tfiat 
we  must  find,  or  there's  no  getting  on  at  all.  They  will  be 
able  to  give  you  some  idea  how  things  are  managed  on  their 
side  of  the  water,  and,  for  the  rest,  your  own  naturally  agree- 
able address  and  manly  bearing  will  be  all  that  is  sufficient  to 
give  you  the  look  of  a  man  blase  with  society." 

Max  left  Minns  with  a  grateful  heart  (not  before  that  person 
had  made  an  onslaught  upon  his  purse,  however — but  that 
was  nothing  new),  and  forthwith  set  about  improving  himself 
in  compliance  with  his  cousin's  directions. 

Before  many  days  had  elapsed,  Minns  had  introduced  Max 
among  a  circle  of  distinguished  acquaintances,  who  all  wore 
moustaches  and  somewhat  seedy  habiliments,  and  who  had  a 
certain  cob-webbed  sleepy  look  about  the  eyes  that  people  of 
good  breeding  are  mostly  supposed  to  have — over  the  water. 
The  places  frequented  by  them — usually  taverns  of  question- 
able character  among  the  purlieus  of  the  city — were  not,  it  is 
true,  of  a  description  calculated  to  give  an  unprejudiced 
observer  an  impression  of  their  aristocratic  breeding,  and  Max 
was  at  first  inclined  to  be  disgusted  with  them.  But  then 
they  talked  so  largely,  and  had  so  much  to  say  about,  their 
distinguished  families  and  the  annuities  that  were  coming  to 
them,  and  the  expectations  that  they  had,  and  the  ordinary 
drawbacks  that  they  had  not,  that  Max  became  speedily 
enchanted  with  their  society,  and  was  soon  on  terms  of 
intimate  acquaintance  with  them.  The  money  he  lost  in  their 


THE     MAN     OF     FASHION.  211 

company  at  billiards  alone  would  have  supported  comfortably 
at  least  half  a  dozen  poor  families.  And  there  were  suppers, 
and  boxes  at  the  theatre,  and  sly  games  of  hazard,  horse 
races,  and  bets,  and  what  not,  so  that  Max  soon  found  an 
effectual  mode  of  lightning  his  purse,  if  nothing  else. 

If  he  grumbled,  Minns  reminded  him  that  it  was  the  way 
they  did  things  abroad,  and  that  the  ladies  liked  men  all  the 
better  for  being  a  little  rakish,  and  Max  was  satisfied.  He 
was,  in  short,  fairly  embarked  on  the  road  to  ruin. 

Very  soon,  his  increased  expenditures  began  to  attract  the 
attention  of  Mr.  Benedick  himself.  Max  had  long  given  up 
all  attention  to  business,  and  now  another  cause  of  uneasiness 
was  to  be  added  to  the  old  man's  list  of  troubles.  He  felt 
called  upon  to  remonstrate  seriously  with  Max  on  the  course 
he  was  of  late  pursuing,  and  the  young  gentleman,  affecting  to 
fall  in  with  his  views,  promised  to  amend  ;  but  this  was  only 
to  throw  dust  in  his  father's  eyes. 

Money,  howeve^  must  be  had,  and  in  this  emergency, 
Max  bethought  himself  of  Crawley.  To  that  worthy  he 
accordingly  hied,  and  found  in  him  the  ready  promoter  of  all 
his  desires. 

Max  began  to  think  Crawley,  after  all,  a  capital  fellow, 
worthy  of  filling  a  more  distinguished  post  in  life.  Crawley 
found  in  Max  another  means  of  advancing  his  own  interests, 
and,  in  short,  not  only  advanced  him  money  whenever  he 
desired  it,  but  readily  undertook  to  become  his  purveyor  in 
finding  opportunities  for  the  gratification  of  his  sensual 
tendencies. 


213  VIOLET,   THE   CHILD    OP  THB 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

AN    INTERVIEW. 

EVER  since  the  withdrawal  of  Lyle  from  the  shelter  of  his 
hospitable  domicile,  Mr.  Flint  had  .fallen  into  a  habit  of 
thoughtfulness  quite  unusual  to  him,  and  it  was  evident  that 
some  new  crotchet  had  taken  possession  of  his  fancy.  Perhaps 
Flint  had  taken  a  sudden  notion  to  reform ;  or  maybe  he 
had  fallen  in  love  with  Alice,  or  with  Violet,  or  both.  At  all 
events,  he  had  become  within  the  past  few  weeks  quite  a  dif- 
ferent being  from  the  Timothy  Flint  of  former  times. 

"  I  say,  mother  Peg,"  one  morning  exclaimed  Flint,  after  an 
unusual  long  fit  of  thoughtfulness,"  partly  superinduced  by  an 
unwonted  depression  in  the  money  market — as  far  as  his  indi- 
vidual pocket  was  concerned — "  this  stale  of  affairs  may  be 
all  very  well  in  the  abstract,  but,  in  reality,  it's  no  go — I  may 
be  mistaken,  but  that's  my  opinion." 

"Which  means,"  replied  the  woman,  "that  you  are  itching 
to  be  engaged  in  some  new  deed  of  darkness.  What  fresh 
piece  of  deviltry  is  your  brain  just  now  hatching,  dear  Tim?" 

'"  Come,  come,  mother  Peg,"  he  retorted  sulkily ;  "  none  of 
your  sneering  to-night,  if  you  please,  or  I  may  take  a  notion 
to  give  that  old  wizen  of  your'n  a  gentle  squeeze,  by  way  of 
reminder.  You  know  what  I'm  up  to  well  enough,  you  do — 


AN     INTERVIEW.  21 3 

that  old  chap  that  we  kept  here  so  long,  and  the  young 
woman  that  came  after  him  paid  us  for  keeping — " 

"  Well,  brute,  what  of  him  ?"  she  asked,  almost  fiercely. 

"  Now,  don't  look  at  a  feller  so,  mother ;  it  ain't  pleasant," 
lie  exclaimed,  relaxing  into  his  usual  habit  of  speaking. 
"  You  know,  as  well  as  I  do,  that  we  ain't  rich  enough  to 
support  folks  in  idleness,  and  what's  the  use  of  having  kept  a 
chap  in  board  and  bed,  in  this  'ere  establishment  of  our'n, 
and  nobody  offering  rewards  for  his  recovery,  nor  nothing  of 
that  sort.  It's  my  private  opinion  that  old  feller's  a  humbug, 
mother  Peg,  and  only  tumbled  into  that  hole  for  some 
sinister  purpose.  I  blush  for  myself,  I  do,  mother,  when  I 
think  of  the  sympathy  I've  wasted  upon  that  venerable 
impostor." 

"It  serves  you  right,"  said  mother  Peg,  chuckling  and 
rubbing  her  hands  together;  "it  serves  you  right,  and  I'm 
glad  of  it.  You  thought  you'd  make  a  speculation  out  of 
those  gray  hairs,  and  nicely  you  were  deceived  for  your  pains 
-ha!  ha!" 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !"  laughed  Mr.  Flint,  with  a  sudden  burst  of 
mirth,  contrasting  strangely,  it  must  be  confessed,  with  his 
lugubrious  countenance  ;  "funny,  isn't  it  ?  It  didn't  occur  to 
me  before,  but  it  really  is  a  remarkably  good  joke — remarka- 
bly !"  and  then  Mr.  Flint  began  to  bite  the  ends  of  his  gloves, 
and  thought  it  lucky  for  Job  that  he  wasn't  present  Just 
then. 

"  I've  had  dreams  to-day,"  said  the  woman,  after  a  slight 
pause,  during  which  she  had  been  eyeing  Flint  keenly. 


214  VIOLET,    THE    CHILD    OF   THE   CITY". 

"  Now,  don't  mother,"  exclaimed  the  latter,  in  a  remonstra- 
tive  tone ;  "  I  know  you're  going  to  say  something  horrible, 
and,  as  it  is,  I'm  afeared  to  go  out  o'  nights,  lest  some  of 
those  old  apple  trees  should  turn  into  imps  of  a  sudden,  and 
grab  me  up  in  their  arms,  and  vanish  in  a  flash  o'  blue  fire, 
like  the  chap  in  "the  play." 

"  You're  either  a  very  great  coward,  or  a  very  deep  knave," 
said  Peg,  viewing  him  with  disgust,  not  unmingled  with  sus- 
picion ;  "  but  it's  not  of  hobgoblins  that  I  was  about  to  speak 
— though,  no  doubt,  if  I  chose  to  mention  names,  I  could 
conjure  up  a  demon  or  two  that  would  put  the  devil's  own 
imps  to  the  blush  for  wickedness." 

"  You  alarm  me,  mother ;  I  think  I  can  smell  brimstone, 
already." 

"  A  sign  that  your  patron  saint,  the  devil,  has  not  deserted 
his  offspring,  that's  all.  But  give  me  your  ear,  and  I'll  let 
you  into  a  secret." 

Seeing  that  she  was  in  earnest,  Mr.  Flint  drew  his  chair 
closer  to  that  of  the  hag,  and  drawing  a  dried  up  bolivar 
cake  from  his  pocket,  he  admonished  her  to  "  get  on  with  her 
donkey,"  and  forthwith  commenced  a  furious  attack  upon  the 
bolivar,  by  way  of  fortifying  himself  against  any  astounding 
developments  that  might  ensue. 

For  more  than  an  hour,  the  two  sat  thus  over  the  fire, 
engaged  in  earnest  conversation,  sustained  in  tones  that  were 
intended  to  guard  against  eaves-droppers,  and  it  may  be 
readily  imagined,  that  Mr.  Flint  found  something  interesting 
in  the  communications  of  the  hag.  from  the  fact  that,  before 


AN     INTERVIEW.  215 

he  had  gotten  very  deeply  into  the  merits  of  his  bolivar,  he 
had  returned  it  to  the  cavity  whence  he  had  produced  it, 
and  given  his  individual  attention  to  Mother  Peg.  When  she 
had  concluded,  her  listener  remained  for  some  moments 
absorbed  in  a  deep  reverie,  and  then,  suddenly  seizing  his 
dilapidated  hat  and  knotty  cane,  he  declared**very  briskly  that 
he  "  had  got  it,"  and  whistling  a  fragment  from  "  Lovely 
Rose,"  he  speedily  withdrew  himself  from  the  premises. 

The  countenance  of  the  wretched  woman  brightened  sud- 
denly, as  Flint  turned  away  from  the  door.  There  was  some- 
thing triumphant  in  the  look  that  came  over  her,  and  perhaps 
there  was  cause  for  it.  Years  of  privation,  and  suffering,  and 
sorrowing  were  at  length  to  be  atoned  for. 


216  VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     OF    THE     CUT. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

CLOUDS    IN   THE    HORIZON. 

SUMMER  was  rapidly  merging  into  golden  autumn,  and  still 
affairs  preserved  their  wonted  tranquillity  at  Knickerbocker 
Cottage.  Herbert  was  making  rapid  progress  in  his  studies — 
insomuch  that  there  was  a  prospect  of  his  soon  entering  upon 
the  practice  of  the  Law — always  provided,  as  Mr.  Humphreys 
judiciously  insinuated,  that  the  requisite  number  of  clients 
was  forthcoming.  Herbert,  too,  had  pursued  his  studies  the 
more  diligently  because  there  was  a  possibility  that  through 
them  he  should  one  day  be  enabled  to  repay  the  kind-hearted 
old  bachelor  for  all  the  favors  which  the  latter  had  so  profusely 
lavished  upon  him.  From  the  intensity  with  which  he 
applied  himself,  it  may  be  imagined  that  he  had  little  leisure 
to  devote  to  the  cottage  and  its  inmates,  but  what  time  he 
could  contrive  to  pass  with  them  he  considered  the  pleasantest 
moments  of  his  life.  Mr.  Humphreys'  frequent  cautions 
with  regard  to  the  allurements  and  gilded  hypocrisies  of  city 
life,  prevented  his  contracting  any  acquaintance  that  could 
exercise  an  injurious  effect  upon  his  advancement,  and  there 
was  thus  no  obstacle  to  impede  his  success. 

It  would  have  been  a  difficult  task,  however,  at  this  stago 


CLOUDS     IN    THE     HORIZON.  217 

of  affairs,  to  persuade  Herbert  that  his  protector's  view  of 
matters  and  things  in  general  was  a  correct  one,  for  he  was 
yet  extremely  young,  and  utterly  unskilled  in  the  ways  of  the 
great  world.  His  heart  was  in  its  pure  and  un contaminated 
state — it  had  not  as  yet  made  its  chrysalis — and,  like  most 
young  people  who  have  known  no  trouble,  he  believed  every- 
thing to  be  veritable  gold  that  possessed  Its  glitter.  Happy 
for  him  that  it  was  so  ! 

As  for  Violet,  she  was  the  life  and  soul  of  Knickerbocker 
Cottage,  and  already  the  kind  housekeeper,  Mrs.  Marston,  had 
come  to  look  upon  her  as  a  daughter.  There  was  but  one 
cloud  on  the  horizon  of  her  young  existence,  and,  under  the 
brightening  sun  of  Hope,  that  was  fast  being  dispelled.  The 
protracted  illness  of  her  father  gave  Violet  much  uneasiness, 
but  her  anxiety  was  somewhat  lightened  by  the  knowledge 
that  he  was  as  well  taken  care  of  as  he  could  have  been 
under  Mr.  Humphreys'  roof.  She  frequently  visited  him,  to 
regale  him  on  little  delicacies  made  under  her  own  super- 
vision, and  to  carry  to  him  encouraging  accounts  of  her  pro- 
gress at  the  Cottage. 

Under  Mrs.  Marston's  tuition,  Violet  had  improved  in  all 
respects,  and  the  force  of  her  natural  accomplishments  as  well 
as  the  gentle  amiability  of  her  manner  and  decided  personal 
graces,  acquired  her  quite  a  notoriety  among  the  circle  of  Mr. 
Humphreys'  acquaintance.  Among  these  was  the  good  Mrs. 
Arthur,  whose  exertions  in  the  performance  of  her  duties  as  a 
directress  of  the  Mission  had  been  in  a  great  measure  the 
means  of  raising  Violet  to  her  present  position. 

10 


218  VIOLET,    THE    .GUILD     OF     THE     CITf. 

But  a  circumstance  occurs  winch,  for  the  time  being 
ill  rows  a  shadow  over  the  picture. 

A  strapping,  round-shouldered  daughter  of  the  Emerald 
Isle,  Biddy  Macartney  by  name,  was  engaged  one  morning  in 
mopping  the  porch  in  front  of  Mr.  llumphreys'  door,  when 
her  attention  was  attracted  by  a  whistle,  and,  on  looking 
round,  she  perceiv<*l  a  tall,  ill-dressed  fellow,  standing  without 
the  iron  gate,  which  happened  at  the  moment  to  be  lock- 
ed. Biddy  did  not  like  the  stranger's  physiognomy,  fur  lie 
was  not  near  -so  prepossessing  in  his  appearance  »s  the 
butcher  and  the  baker,  and  it  was,  therefore,  in  no  very 
gentle  terms  that  she  asked  him  what  he  wanted  ? 

"  What  do  I  want  ?"  replied  the  interloper,  who  was  no 
other  than  Flint.  "  I  want  my  dog,  that's  what  I  want. 
Here,  Growl!  come  here,  sir!''  and  lie  immediately  recom- 
menced whistling  with  more  vigor  than  ever. 

"  May  the  divil  flyaway  wid  your  dog,  that  comes  here  to  make 
such  a  hullabaloo  at  this  time  o'  the  day !"  exclaimed  Biddy. 

"May  the  devil  seize  your  iron  gate,  that  let  him  in  and 
keeps  me  waiting,  when  I  should  be  at  Harlem,"  rejoined 
Flint,  in  his  ugliest  manner.  "  Come,  you  Amazon — either 
drive  him  out,  or  open  the  gate  and  let  me  fetch  him." 

"  Let  you  in,  indeed,  or  the  likes  of  you  I  Maybe  it's  the 
spoons  ye're  after." 

"  Take  care,  my  good  girl.  Such  terms  are  actionable," 
said  Flint,  recording  a  memorandum,  apparently,  but,  in  rea- 
lity, making  a  diagram  of  the  grounds. 

"  Now,   you  needn't  be   corain'  after  me  wid   your   big 


CLOUDS   is   THE   iionizow.  219 

words,"  exclaimed  Biddy,  with  a  menacing  shake  of  the  mop, 
"  My  masther's  a  bit  of  a  laayer  himself,  and  we  won't  stand 
no  blarneyin'  here  !  So  get  along  wid  yer  donkey  !" 

"  Make  it  '  dog,'  and  I'll  go,"  replied  Flint,  coolly. 

"  Musha !  the  man  won't  bo  satisfied,  thin,"  said  Biddy, 
crossly.  "  Ilere,  ye  thief  of  the  world ! — where  are  ye  ?" 

At  this  moment  the  object  of  her  dislike  appeared  at 
the  end  of  one  of  the  garden  walks  with  the  remains  of  a. 
young  chicken,  on  which  he  appeared  to  be  regaling  himself 
with  immense  satisfaction,  in  his  mouth. 

"As  I  live!"  almost  shrieked  Biddy,  "if  he  ain't  been  in 
the  hen  roost  already  !  Is  that  the  way  ye  do  it  ?"  and  the 
irate  girl  made  a  dash  at  the  dog  with  her  mop,  but  was  glad 
the  next  momont  to  retreat  beyond  his  reach — not  relishing 
the  formidable  battery  of  teeth  displayed  by  Growl. 

"  Take  care  how  you  go,"  said  Flint,  "  if  you  don't  want 
to  be  made  mince  meat  of.  He  has  a  peculiar  relish  for 

Irish  mutton,  particularly  when  it  comes  from .  What's 

the  name  of  your  county  »" 

"  Do  take  him  away,  now,"  urged  Biddy — "  that's  a  good 
fellow !" 

"  I  would,  if  he'd  only  come,  but  you  see,  being  newly 
bought — perhaps  you'd  fetch  him  to  me." 

"  Me !  is  it  afther  sharin'  the  fate  of  the  chick  that  I'd  bt-f8 

"  Then,  open  the  gate  and  I'll  take  him,  if  I  can  once  £<t 
this  collar  round  his  neck — and  it's  no  joke  to  do  that,  I  can 
tell  you  1" 


220  VIOLET,   THE   CHILD   OF  THE   CITV. 

"  Well,  thin,  come  in  and  take  him.  Sure  I  can't  stand 
here  all  the  mornin*  talking  wi'd  ye's." 

So  Biddy  unfastened  the  gate,  and  Flint  found  himself 
within  the  enchanted  domain. 

"  Nice  place,  this  here,"  he  said,  as  he  busied  himself  in 
fastening  the  collar  on  his  runaway. 

"  Faix  it  is,"  answered  Biddy.  "  There's  plenty  to  eat  here, 
and  little  to  do  at  that." 

"  And  nice  people,  too,  I  daresay,  if  we  may  take  yourself 
as  a  specimen." 

Flint  had  her  there.  Biddy  might  have  had  a  heart  as 
unimpressible  as  a  Dutch  cheese,  but  it  couldn't  resist  the 
blarney.  In  a  few  moments,  she  was  as  intimate  with  Flint 
as  though  she  had  been  brought  up  with  him,  and  the  latter 
had  elicited  all  the  Information  about  the  inmates  of  Knicker- 
bocker Cottage  that  he  had  desired,  and  more  into  the  bar- 
gain. He  knew  how  many  there  were  in  the  house — what  it 
was  furnished  with- — and  what  was  the  quantity  of  plate  that 
was  used  at  meals :  in  short,  all  about  the  place  and  Biddy 
herself,  including  a  history  of  the  Macartney  family;  and 
Biddy — bad  cess  to  the  blarney  ! — invited  him  to  dinner  in 
the  kitchen  1 


THE    MIDNIGHT     CONFERENCE.        ;  221 


CHAPTER   XXVE. 

THE   MIDNIGHT    CONFERENCE. 

AFTER  leaving  the  hospitable  .dwelling  where  Violet  was  so 
pleasantly  passing  her  time,  in  happy  unconsciousness  of  the 
fresh  troubles  that  were  in  store  for  her,  Mr.  Timothy  Flint  was 
walking  rapidly  in  the  direction  of  the  road  to  Fordham, 
where  he  intended  to  take  the  cars  for  the  city,  and  where  he 
arrived  in  such  thoughtfulness  of  mind  that  he  came  very  near 
being  run  over  by  the  locomotive,  which  was  just  then 
approaching. 

"  I  don't  know  what  old  Peg  has  got  in  her  eye,"  he 
ruminated,  "  and  I  don't  care.  Something  to  her  own  advan- 
tage, of  course,  and  not  probable  that  it's  anything  to  mine. 
But,  if -I  can,  by  a  master-stroke  of  manoeuvering,  turn,  up 
something  out  of  my  visit  to  forward  the  interests  in  particu- 
lar of  T.  Flint,  Esquire, ;  Mother  Peg's  views  may  not  be 
interfered  with,  and  the  circumstances  of  the  aforesaid  altered 
considerably  for  the  better." 

On  arriving  in  the  city,  Flint  took  his  way  towards  a 
certain  quarter  once  the  abiding-place  of  the  more  wealthy 
townsmen,  but  latterly  given  over  to  a  mixed  population 
whose  circumstances  and  pursuits  are  as  varied  as  the  tene- 
ments which  go  to  make  up  the  neighborhood.  Some  of 


222  VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     OF     THE     CITT. 

these  tenements,  having  been  built  for  the  dwellings  of  people 
in  more  than  easy  circumstances,  still  wear  an  imposing  look 
through  the  dust  and  decay  which  have  settled  upon  them, 
and  exhibit  in  their  faded  curtains  and  obsolete  ornaments  an 
air  of  tawdry  ostentation  ;  others  have  become  so  shabby  and 
out  of  order  that  their  owners  seem  to  have  come  to  the  con- 
clusion that  they  are  not  worth  repairing,  and  are  let  out  to 
lodgers  and  tenants  of  every  description — whose  tenure  of 
their  dirty  abodes  appears  to  be  growing  weaker  and  weaker, 
as  the  spirit  of  improvement  begins  to  carry  its  encroachments 
in  that  direction.  Those  narrow  and  tortuous  streets,  where 
the  mud  lies  in  heaps  higher  than  the  side-walk,  and  the 
unsightly  buildings  that  preside  over  those  festering  mounds 
of  corruption  will  soon  have  to  yield  before  the  money-getting 
spirit  of  the  age  ;  and  broad,  well-regulated  thoroughfares  and 
stately  warehouses  will  ere  long  occupy  their  site. 

In  a  well-furnished  though  somewhat  faded  apartment  of 
one  of  the  best  of  these  dilapidated  mansions,  at  the  hour  of 
nine  in  the  evening,  on  the  day  of  Mr.  Flint's  adventure  at 
Knickerbocker  Cottage,  was  seated  an  individual  who  must 
hereafter  bear  a  more  conspicuous  part  in  our  story. 

This  person  reclines  in  an  easy  chair  by  the  side  of  a  table 
covered  with  books  and  papers,  the  contents  of  which  appear 
to  consist  principally  of  figures.  He  is  clad  in  a  handsome 
dressing-gown,  and  at  the  moment  of  his  introduction  to  tho 
reader  is  enveloped  in  a  cloud  of  smoke,  emitted  from  a 
meerschaum  pipe  which  he  has  just  lighted.  If  IK-rbert  had 
been  there,  he  would  have  had  some  difficulty  in  recognising 


THE     MIDNIGHT     CONFERENCE.  223 

this  person  as  Mr.  Crawley.  Chiefly  owing  to  the  fact  that 
the  latter  had  grown  a  tremendous  beard,  which  contrasted 
unnaturally  with  that  person's  long-drawn  countenance  and 
sharp  features. 

As  Mr.  Crawley  sat  thus  at  his  luxurious  ease,  with  the 
remains  of  a  dish  of  tea  unfinished  at  his  elbow,  a  door  all  at 
once  opened,  and  Flint  made  his  apppcarance — so  abruptly 
that  the  skirt  of  a  lady's  garment,  as  it  vanished  into  fiu 
opposite  passage,  did  not  escape  his  attention. 

"  Beg  pardon,  boss,"  said  Flint — "  Ithoughtyou  was  alone." 

"So  I  oTTi  alone,"  replied  Crawley,  tartly;  "but  that's  no 

reason  why  vou  should  not  observe  some  ceremony — walking 

•>       »  •/  O 

into  a  man's  house  as  if  there  were  no  doors  to  knock  at." 

"  Come,  bo??,  none  of  that,"  said  Flint,  cooly  seating  him- 
self on  the  table,  close  to  Crawley.  "  After  all  the  adventures 
we've  had  in  common,  that  sort  of  thing  won't  do  for  me." 

"You  are  an  amiable  acquaintance  at  any  rate,"  muttered 
Crawley.  "  Pray,  what  sort  of  thing  will  do  for  you,  may  I 
ask?" 

"Well,  I  don't  know,  exactly.  In  fact,  I  haven't  quite 
made  up  my  mind,  except  to  one  thing.  Money  must  come 
from  somewhere,  or  I  shall  have  to  turn  my  attention  to  the 
financial  line,  as  the  only  respectable  means  of  getting  a 
living." 

"  That's  as  much  as  to  say  that  your  present  rewards  are 
not  to  your  liking." 

"Just  so  !  and,  in  fact,  that's  the  occasion  of  my  being  here 
to-night." 


224  VIOLET,   THE     CHILD     OF    THE     CITY. 

"  I'm  short,"  replied  Crawley,  dryly. 

"  Visitors  this  evening  ?"  asked  Flint,  looking  round  him 
quite  at  his  ease. 

"  No — nobody.     Merely  my  washerwoman." 

"  Do  washerwomen  indulge  in  such  things  as  these  ?"  asked 
Flint,  holding  up  a  valuable  fan,  which  he  had  found  lying 
on  the  table. 

Crawley  returned  the  cunning  look  of  his  questioner  with 
a  blank  stare  at  his  audacity. 

"I  should  like  to  know,"  said  Crawley,  "what  concern  it 
is  of  yours,  who  visits  me  ?" 

"  It's  nothing  to  me,  of  course,"  returned  Flint.  "  I  was 
only  thinking  how  the  polite  world  would  stare  if  they  got  an 
idea,  by  accident,  of  the  way  in  which  one  of  their  number 
passes  his  time — that's  all  1" 

"  Why,  you  don't  mean " 

"  I  don't  say  I'd  be  the  one  to  tell  on  you ;  but  these  little 
things  will  leak  out,  you  know,  boss,  and  the  result  aint 
always  so  very  agreeable  as  we  might  wish." 

"  In  plain  terms,  if  I  don't  give  you  some  money,  you'll 
expose  my  private  affairs  to  the  world — is  that  it  ?" 

"  That's  it,  boss.     Disguise  aint  in  my  nature." 

"  Well,  you  shall  be  satisfied.  But  leave  me  now,  I  beg  of 
you  ;  I  have  some  business  on  hand  to-night,  and  your  being 
about  will  only  disturb  me.  Come  to  me  to-morrow  night, 
and  you  shall  have  money." 

"  Beg  pardon,  but  there's  one  other  point  I  should  like  to 
touch  on." 


THM    MIDNIGHT    CONFERENCE.  225 

"  Anything  you  please,  but  not  now." 

"  Gal  in  the  case  ?"  said  Flint,  laconically. 

"  How  does  that  interest  me  ?"  asked  Crawley,  pretending 
indifference,  but  really  wide  awake. 

"  Oh  !  you're  a  sharp  one,"  said  Flint,  much  amused. 
"  Why,  I'll  tell  you  how  it  interests  you.  Don't  I  know  how 
you've  been  weaving  your  meshes  round  that  innocent  little 
fly,  Max  Benedick,  and  how  you're  getting  hold  of  all  his  loose 
dimes  by  humoring  of  his  whims,  and  picking  up  all  the 
nice  things  for  him  that  fall  in  your  way  outside  o'  business  ? 
And  didn't  you  tell  me  to  look  bright  when  I  heard  of  a  gal 
of  the  name  of " 

"  That's  quite  enough.    Leave  out  the  name." 

" '  0,  no,  we  never  mention  'em,'  "  replied  Flint ;  "  but  the 
long  and  short  of  it  is,  she's  found,  name  or  no  name." 

"  Found,  do  you  say  ?" 

"Yes— /found  her." 

"If  this  be  so,"  said  Crawley,  "  Flint,  my  boy,  your  fortune 
is  made !" 

"  That's  what  I  observed  to  myself,  when  I  made  the  disco- 
very," said  Flint.  "  Says  I — Flint,  my  boy,  says  I " 

"  Well,  never  mind  what  you  said  ;  we'll  hear  that  another 
time.  In  the  meanwhile,  here's  some  money  for  you,  and 
beware  how  you  let  any  one  else  into  your  confidence.  Not 
that  /  care,  particularly,"  said  Crawley,  "  but " 

"  I  understand.  I'm  tight  as  a  bank-lock.  Hobbs  couldn't 
pick  me" 

These  two  worthies,  whose  ostensible  positions  in  society 
10* 


220  VIOLET,   TUB     CHILD     OF    THE     CUT. 

were  so  totally  different,  and  yet  in  whose  characters  there 
was  such  a  similarity  as  to  render  them  worthy  confreres  in 
any  scheme  of  villany,  then  went  into  a  long  and  earnest 
conversation,  which  must  have  been  of  interest  to  both,  judg- 
ing from  Flint's  excited  manner,  and  Crawley's  rapt  attention. 
It  was  midnight  before  Flint  departed.  When  he  was 
finally  left  to  himself,  Crawley  relapsed  into  a  revery,  in 
which  Violet  and  Max  Benedick  played  no  inconspicuous 
part.  What  was  the  result  of  his  rumination,  we  shall  know 
anon. 


THE     SI'IDKR     WEAVING     HIS     WED.  227 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

THK    BPIDER   WEAVING    HIS   WEB. 

SINCE  the  night  of  the  interview  with  Flint,  Crawley  had 
had  his  hands  full  of  business,  and,  it  may  be  added,  his  head 
full  of  schemes.  The  grand  aim  in  life  of  Mr.  Crawley  was, 
apparently,  on  the  point  of  being  accomplished,  and  his  coun- 
tenance was  beginning  of  late  to  wear  an  air  of  exhilaration 
quite  unusual  to  it.  Already  in  his  imagination  he  saw  him- 
self the  successor  to  the  large  business  of  Benedick  &  Co.,  for 
he  had  done  much,  in  hi.-?  own  modest  way,  to  destroy  in 
Max  every  mite  of  business  capacity  he  had  ever  possessed, 
and  rumor  was  beginning  to  spread  the  fact  that  the  Bene- 
dicks were  living  beyond  their  income,  and,  especially  among 
those  who  would  fain  be  their  rivals,  but  could  not  afford  it, 
their  speedy  downfall  was  predicted.  Now,  the  motive  for  all 
the  cringing  and  fawning  which  had  made  itself  so  conspicu- 
ous in  Crawley's  character,  and  had  gained  almost  the  entire 
control  of  Mr.  Benedick's  business,  began  to  be  manifest.  He 
had  played  a  shrewd  game,  and  flattered  himself  that  he  was 
on  the  point  of  coming  out  winner.  With  this  end  in  view, 
he  had  humored  all  Max's  whims  and  caprices,  had  advanced 
him  money  on  all  occasions  when  he  thought  it  safe  to  do  so, 
and  had  made  himself,  in  fact,  that  young  gentleman's  pur- 


228  VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     OF     THE      CITT. 

veyor  in  all  the  luxuries  and  dissipations  which  go  to  make  up 
the  necessities  of  the  modern  fashionable  "  gent." 

One  morning,  as  Violet  was  tending  her  flowers  in  the 
garden  attached  to  Mr.  Humphreys'  dwelling,  a  stage  drew  up 
at  the  end  of  the  little  lane  leading  to  the  house,  and  deposited 
a  personage  whose  clothes  as  well  as  his  whiskers  had  suffered 
somewhat  from  the  dust  of  the  road.  While  Violet  was 
wondering  who  the  stranger  could  be,  the  latter  had  entered 
the  gate,  and  was  advancing  to  meet  her  with  a  profusion  of 
bows  and  a  display  of  politeness  which  gave  the  young  lady 
an  irrepressible  inclination  to  laugh,  but  which  Mr.  Crawley 
(for  he  it  was)  supposed  to  render  him  attractive  in  the 
highest  degree. 

He  carried  a  carpet-bag  in  his  hand,  and  looked  as  if  he 
had  merely  dropped  in  for  a  call,  while  proceeding  to  some 
place  still  further  on. 

It  may  here  be  remarked  that,  although  he  had  only  once 
seen  Violet,  and  that  as  an  infant,  on  one  of  the  few  occasions 
when  he  visited  the  home  of  the  Lyles  on  Benedick's  business, 
although  he  had  more  than  once  heard  her  story  mentioned, 
among  the  Benedicks,  in  connection  with  cousin  Alice,  in 
terms  intended  to  cast  a  reproach  upon  the  latter,  but  in 
reality  making  the  transaction  seem  more  to  her  credit ;  and 
Flint — having,  as  we  have  noticed,  by  ingratiating  himself 
with  Biddy,  the  maid,  succeeded  in  possessing  himself  of  every 
circumstance  in  Violet's  history  not  known  to  Crawley — the 
latter  was  sufficiently  fortified — at  least  he  thought  so — to 
enter  upon  the  hazardous  game  he  was  about  to  play. 


THE    SPIDER    WEAVING    HIS    WEB.  229 

"  Good  morning,  Miss,"  said  Crawley,  with  his  usual  bland- 
ness  ;  "  I  have  the  honor,  I  presume,  of  addressing  Miss  Violet 
Lyle  ?" 

Miss  Lyle  signified  by  a  distant  inclination  of  the  head  and 
a  pretty  smile  that  he  was  not  mistaken. 

"  I  thought  so,"  continued  Crawley,  throwing  a  good  deal 
of  respectful  admiration  into  his  manner.  "  Family  likenesses 
rarely  mislead  one.  How  like  her  mother !" 

"  Did  you  know  her  then,  sir  ?"  asked  Violet,  with  a  sudden 
interest  in  the  stranger. 

"  Only  too  well,  Miss,"  replied  Crawley,  with  a  mournful 
shake  of  the  head.  "  She  was  an  angel  of  virtue,  that  woman, 
but  in  compliment  to  the  time  and  place  I  forbear  to  speak 
further  of  her.  Only,  you  are  very  like  her,  Miss.  And  your 
respected  father — is  he  recovered  yet  1" 

"  Heaven  grant  that  he  may  recover,"  said  Violet,  sadly ; 
"  but  I  fear  he  never  will.  Ah  !  sir,  you  do  not  know  all  we 
— that  is,  he  has  suffered." 

"  I  have  heard  of  it,  Miss,  but  recently,  for  the  first  time. 
Although  not  an  intimate  friend  of  the  family,  I  had  the 
honor  of  knowing  and  esteeming  your  father  in  better  times, 
and  in  a  better  place  than  this,  and  it  was  for  the  purpose  of 
inquiring  into  his  affairs,  and,  if  possible,  testifying  my  sym- 
pathy with  him  in  his  misfortunes,  that  I  am  here  at  this 
moment — for  I  could  not  pass  this  place,  knowing  that  you 
were  in  it,  without  paying  you  at  least  that  compliment." 

u  An  acquaintance  with  our  family  in  its  better  days,  how- 
ever slight,  must  always  render  you  a  welcome  visitant  here," 


230  VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     OF    THE     CITr. 

replied  Violet,  -warmly.  "But  pray  come  in,  sir;  you  are 
tired  and  covered  with  dust,  and  must  need  refreshment." 

"  If  it  would  not  be  considered  an  intrusion,  Miss,  nothing 
would  give  me  greater  pleasure." 

"  It  is  «i  favor,  sir,  that  I  beg  you  will  grant  us ;  and  here," 
she  added  suddenly,  with  a  brighter  smile,  "  comes  one  that 
will  second  my  request  even  more  warmly." 

The  last  exclamation  had  been  called  forth  by  the  appear- 
ance of  Herbert  at  the  bottom  of  the  walk.  Without  troubling 
himself  to  unlatch  the  gate,  he  leaped  the  low  paling  as  light 
as  a  feather,  and  was  approaching  Violet,' merrily  singing  a 
catch  from  some  familiar  song,  when,  for  the  first  time  noticing 
the  visitor,  who  had  been  concealed  from  him  by  a  bush,  ho 
recoiled  in  something  like  consternation. 

"Crawley!" 

"  Your  servant,  Mr.  Herbert — what  a  fine  day  we  have," 
said  the  sycophant,  smoothly  saluting  Herbert — a  careless 
Bmile  on  his  countenance,  but  the  blackness  of  night  in  his 
heart. 

"  Why,  what  the  deuce  are  you  doing  here  ?"  asked  Her- 
bert, in  a  manner  anything  but  complimentary  to  Crawley. 

"  Why,  Herbert,  how  you  behave,'1  interposed  Violet ;  "  this 
is  an  old  friend  of  our  family,  come  to  inquire  into  the  con- 
dition of  my  poor  father.  I  have  invited  him  to  take  some- 
refreshment,  and  I  hope  that,  for  my  sake,  you  will  second  the 
invitation." 

"Thank  you,  Miss — thank  you,"  said  Crawley,  bowing 
meekly  ;  "  it  is  so  like  your  mother.  Come,  Mr.  Herbert,"  ho 


THE     SPIDER    WEAVING     HIS     "WEB.  231 

continued,  extending  his  hand  to  the  young  student,  "  let  us 
bury  the  hatchet.  I  know  you  don't  feel  altogether  at  homo 
with  me,  on  account  of  the  loss  of  your  place  and  the  strict- 
ness with  \vhich  I  enforced  our  employer's  orders — things,  of 
course,  with  which  I  had  nothing  to  do,  any  further  than  the 
mere  performance  of  my  duty — but  that  is  all  past  and  gone. 
Come — shall  we  be  friends  again  ?  What  say  you  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Violet,  coaxingly,  "  forgive  and  forget,  Herbert, 
— won't  you  ?''  and  she  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm  and  looked 
up  into  his  face  so  winningly  that — in  fact,  Herbert  might 
have  resisted  Crawley,  but  he  could  not  resist  Violet,  so  the 
consequence  was  that  all  adjourned  to  the  house,  where,  with 
Mr.  Humphreys  and  Marston,  they  made  quite  a  party. 

Crawley  remained  at  the  cottage  for  more  than  an  hour, 
during  which  time  he  exerted  himself  so  successfully  to 
strengthen  the  good  impression  he  had  created  in  his  own 
favor,  that,  before  he  left,  the  family  were  showering  their 
invitations  upon  him,  and  even  Herbert  exhibited  some  cor- 
diality. A  grim  smile  spread  itself  over  his  features  as  he  left 
the  cottage.  Triumph  sat  enthroned  in  every  lineament. 

"I  will  win  the  game,"  he  soliloquized,  "but  not  for  my 
friend  Max.  Having  once  got  himself  into  comfortable 
quarters,  Theophilus  Crawley  is  not  Jhe  man  to  surrender  the 
advantages  gained  at  so  much  risk  to  another." 

But  Herbert — 

"  Pshaw !  What  of  him — he's  but  a  stripling,  hardly  yet 
out  of  his  swaddling  clothes,"  thought  Crawley. s  "He's  easily 
got  rid  of!" 


232  VIOLET,    THE    CHILD    OF   THE    CITT. 

Thus  ruminating  the  schemer  made  his  way  back  to 
town — his  pretence  of  having  business  in  the  neighborhood 
being,  of  course,  a  sham.  On  many  succeeding  occasions 
during  the  year  Crawley  visite/1  the  hospitable  domicile  of 
Mr.  Humphreys— until,  becoming  emboldened  by  what  he 
conceived  to  be  his  success,  he  resolved  to  acquaint  Violet 
with  the  passion  which  possessed  him.  Max's  importunities 
he  had  found  no  difficulty  in  evading,  and  everything  seemed 
to  conspire  to  promote  his  wishes. 

Finding  Violet  one  day  alone  in  the  library,  Mr.  Crawley 
astounded  her  ears  with  a  sudden  declaration  of  love.  They  had 
been  scrutinizing  prints,  and  looking  into  albums,  and  Violet 
had  been  playing  some  favorite  airs  on  the  piano  for  his  amuse- 
ment, without  the  slightest  idea  that  his  feelings  were  other 
than  those  of  a  friend,  when  this  development  took  place. 
Before  she  could  prevent  it,  he  had  dropped  on  his  knees  and 
taken  one  of  her  hands  in  his  own — covering  it  with  kisses. 

"  Sweet  Miss  Violet,"  he  exclaimed,  with  a  touch  of  gen- 
uine passion  in  his  voice  and  looks — "  I  know  that  I  possess 
your  heart.  Only  say  that  your  hand  shall  be  mine,  and  I 
am  the  happiest  man  in,  existence  !" 

"  As  the  friend  of  my  father,"  returned  Violet,  when  she  had 
in  some  measure  recovered  from  the  agitation  ,\nto  which  this 
speech  had  thrown  her—"  as  the  friend  of  our  family  I  shall 
always  have  a  kind  regard — a — a  sort  of  reverence-  for  you: — 
but  more  than  that  is  impossible." 

"  Your  words  are  daggers  to  me !"  said  Crawley,  theatri- 
cally. "  Can  it  be  that  you  love  another  ?" 


THE     SPIDER    WEAVING     HIS    WEB.  283 

"  I  oannot  answer  you,  sir.     Pray  release  my  hand !" 

"  Not  untH  you  have  given  me  some  cause,  however  slight, 
for  hope." 

"  Is  Mr.  Crawley  so  ungallant  as  to  refuse  the  request  of  a 
lady  ?"  said  a  voice  close  at  hand. 

Crawley  turned  and  beheld  Herbert — much  to  his  chagrin. 

"We  were  only  enacting  a  little  scene  together,"  said 
Crawley,  with  forced  gayety,  and  a  peculiar  glance  at  Violet — 
which  was  lost  upon  her,  for  her  eyes  were  fixed  on  Herbert's, 
to  whose  side  she  had  fled.  "  An  innocent  way  dfcbugh  of 
killing  time.  Keally,  Miss  Lyle,  you  are  a  loss  to  the  stage — 
you  are.  But  I  must  be  going,  or  I  shall  find  the  deuce  to  pay 
at  the  counting-house.  Good  morning,  Mr.  Herbert;  good 
morning,  Miss  Violet.  What  a  delightful  day  this  is,  I 
declare !" 

And  he  sauntered  down  the  path  and  out  at  the  gate  pre- 
cisely as  if  he  had  not  heard  the  loud  burst  of  merriment 
which  greeted  his  departure  from  the  little  parlor  in  which  the 
foregoing  incident  had  occurred. 


234  VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     OP    THB    CITY. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE   DINER- OCT    AT    HOME. 

IT  was  a  miserable  garret,  abounding  in  great  cobwebs,  and 
hordes  of  huge  brown  bugs,  which  sprawled 'and  crackled  in 
every  nook  and  corner  of  the  vacant,  dreary  place :  the  time 
about  six  in  the  evening.  The  place  was  not  exactly  vacant, 
either,  inasmuch  as  there  was  a  small  ricketty  imitation  of  a 
four-post  bedstead  in  one  corner  of  it,  with  a  few  sheets 
spread  across  it  as  an  apology  for  a  bed  ;  while,  upon  a  lina 
which  stretched  from  one  end  of  the  aforesaid  posts  to  some 
remote  portion  of  the  garret,  invisible  iu  the  darkness  beyond, 
hung  an  article  commonly  known  as  a  "dickey" — more  pro- 
perly denominated  a  false  bosom  ;  one  pair  of  white  silk 
stockings,  pretty  well  darned ;  a  silk  neckerchief,  of  precisely 
sixteen  different  colors ;  a  white  ditto,  evidently  reserved  for 
gala  occasions  (though  what  the  inhabitant  of  a  den  like 
this  could  have  to  do  with  anything  approximating  to  enjoy- 
ment, was  a  mystery  to  the  uninitiated)  ;  a  small  cane  ;  and 
a  handkerchief,  so  deeply  impregnated  with  musk,  that  the 
atmosphere  of  the  place  was  more  intolerable  than  that  of 
sixty  opera  box^s  crowded  into  one.  A  common  wood  parti- 
tion seemed  to  divide  this  gloomy  abode  from  another  just 
like  it,  and  against  it  was  placed  a  table  on  three  logs,  and 


A    DIXER-OUT    AT    HOME.  235 

above  that  again  a  small  triangular  piece  of  looking- 
glass — the  only  article  visible  in  the  shape  of  a  mirror. 
The  owner,  it  would  seem,  had  a  taste  for  the  fine  arts, 
although  his  finances  compelled  him  to  limit  that  taste  to  a 
single  colored  print — the  United  States  Mail  Steamer  nigh- 
binder,  taking  in  a  supply  of  water  (contrary,  however,  to 
•wishes  and  consent  of  the  passengers  and  captain). 

A  small  stove,  which  was  so  full  of  fissures  that  it  seemed 
with  difficulty  to  hold  itself  together,  was  emitting  an  unac- 
countable quantity  of  smoke  at  about  an  equal  distance  from 
the  table  and  the  bed,  and  over  this  stove  sat  a  solitary  indi- 
vidual, in"  his  shirtsleeves,  with  a  piece  of  paper  spread  across  his 
lap,  diligently  engaged  in  an  endeavor  to  solve  the  vexed  q'uea- 
tion,  whether  a  pair  of  boots  could  be  made  to  receive  a  polish 
without  the  aid  of  blacking. 

Could  the  ferocious  Major  Dabster,  U.S.A.,  and  that 
amiable  young  individual,  Mr.  Frank  Minns,  have  stepped  into 
that  garret,  at  that  identical  moment,  and  looked  in  the  face  of 
the  solitary  individual  with  whom  we  have  been  striving  to 
render  the  reader  familiar,  they  would  have  sworn  that  it  was 
no  other  than  Mr.  Pinkerton  Podge,  who  sat  before  them, 
engaged  in  the  investigation  of  the  aforementioned  problem. 
Alas  !  for  poor  human  nature ! — the  truth  must  be  spoken ; 
Pinkerton  Podge  was  at  home!  Let  not  the  reader  imagine 
that  any  untoward  circumstance  had  thus  suddenly  plunged 
Mr.  Podge  from  the  height  of  luxury,  down  to  the  deepest 
depths  of  wretchedness.  No — such  had  been  for  years  the 
situation  of  that  unfortunate  gentleman's  affairs ;  but,  by  a 


236  VIOLET,    THE    CHILD    OF    THE    CITS'. 

tact  which  all,  happily  for  society,  do  not  possess  in  an  equal 
degree,  Mr.  Podge  had  so  contrived  to  conceal  his  true  condi- 
tion, that  he  managed  to  preserve,  unchanged,  the  entree  to 
many  of  the  most  exclusive  dwellings  in  the  city,  and  to  sponge 
many  a  sumptuous  dinner  and  many  an  extraneous  "  V  "  from 
those  young  sprigs  of  fashion  with  whom  it  was  his  delight, 
or,  more  properly  speaking,  his  policy,  to  associate. 

As  Mr.  Podge  was  thus  remarkably  occupied,  while  he 
lightened  the  toilsomeness  of  his  labor,  by  humming  to  him- 
self, "I'd  be  a  butterfly" — the  mellifluous  tones  of  a  fiddle 
were  heard  to  arise  gradually  from  the  other  side  of  the 
boards  ;  whereat,  Mr.  Podge  became  so  disgusted  that  he  fired 
his  blacking  brush  at  the  partition  which  concealed  from  him 
the  object  of  his  ire,  and  immediately  followed  it  up  with 
the  boot. 

"  Confound  that  fellow  !"  he  growled,  almost  beside  him- 
self, at  the  sudden  interruption  of  his  meditations ;  "  he's 
always  playing  Hail  Columbia — and  such  playing,  too  !  I 
say,  Number  one !  can't  you  be  quiet "  there  for  a  little 
while !" 

"  What  am  I  doing  of  ?"  replied  a  deep  low  voice,  evident- 
ly that  of  the  owner  of  the  fiddle,  from  the  other  side  of  the 
partition. 

"  What  are  you  doing  3"  rejoined  Mr.  Podge  ;  "  driving  a 
fellow-creature  crazy — that's  what  you're  doing  ?" 

"  You  don't  like  my  music,  then  ?"  asked  the  voice. 

"  Oh !  if  you  only  knew  how  I  dislike  it,"  rejoined  Mr. 
Podge,  supposing  that  lie  was  about  to  comply  with  his  request. 


A    DINER-OUT    AT     HOME.  237 

But  immediately,  as  if  the  owner  had  resolved  to  give 
his  neighbor  a  dose,  the  instrument  struck  up  again — and 
Podge  was  obliged  to  endure  all  the  tortures  of 

"  Hail  Columbia,  happy  land  !" 

until  he  was  impelled  to  rush  to  the  bedstead,  and  bury  his 
head  in  the  blankets,  to  shut  out  the  horrid  din. 

"  Got  enough  of  it  ?"  at  length  asked  the  voice,  pausing  for 
a  moment,  on  finding  all  quiet  "  next  door." 

"  Oh !  no — it's  delightful — pray,  go  on,"  answered  Podge, 
fearful  that,  if  he  objected,  the  fiddle  would  re-commence, 
never  to  stop. 

Here,  a  bright  idea  seemed  to  strike  the  individual 
addressed  as  "  Number  One." 

"I  say,  Number  Two!" 

"  Well,"  said  Podge ;  "  you  needn't  bawl  quite  so  loud ; 
I'm  not  deaf." 

"  I've  got  a  proposal  to  make." 

"  Make  it,  then,"  returned  Podge,  gravely. 

"  You  and  I  have  been  neighbors  in  this  Parnassian  retreat 
for  several  months — ain't  we,  Number  Two  ?" 

"  You  are  kind  enough  to  say  so,"  answered  Podge,  who 
was  just  in  the  humor  to  read  "  Fox's  Book  of  Martyrs." 

"  And,  during  all  that  time,  we've  scarcely  interchanged  a 
civil  word  betwixt  us,"  proceeded  the  stranger. 

"All  owing  to  that  devilish  fiddle,"  retorted  Podge,  in 
strange  forgetfulness  of  what  had  just  occurred.  In  revenge, 
Number  One  instantaneously  recommenced  playing;  a  cir- 


238  VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     OF     THE    CITT. 

cumstance  which  immediately  brought  back  to  Mr.  Podge's 
mind  the  sufferings  he  had  recently  endured.  His  heart, 
which  had  been  opening  by  degrees  towards  the  unknown, 
suddenly  shut  up,  like  an  oyster. 

"  You  were  about  to  make  an  observation,"  he  remarked,  in 
the  hope  of  calling  off  Lis  neighbors  attention. 

"  Only  going  to  propose,"  returnee!  the  other,  "  that  there 
should  be  a  cessation  of  hostilities  between  us,  for  .the  present ; 
and  that,  as  you  appear  to  have  made  up  your  mind  to  stay 
fit  home  this  evening,  we  club  our  resources  together,  and 
make  a  night  of  it." 

"  My  dear  sir,"  said  Podge,  "  if  you  only  knew  the  limited 
nature  of  my  resources,  you  would  not  have  the  slightest 
desire  to  cultivate  my  acquaintance." 

"  And  if  you  only  knew  the  extent  of  mine,  you'd  be 
devilish  glad  of  the  opportunity,"  rejoined  the  other. 

u  Your  proposition  is  a  fair  one.  But,  will  you  allow  me, 
before  I  consent  to  enter  into  the  arrangement,  to  exact  from 
you  a  single  promise  ?"  ,  > 

"  With  all  my  heart,  my  boy !     What  is  it  ?" 

"  That  you — that  you  will  not  return  to  your  fiddle  for  the 
remainder  of  the  evening." 

"  What — sign  away  my  liberty  ?  My  dear  boy,  I  couldn't 
think  of  it !  It's  the  only  enjoyment  I  have  !"" 

"  Promise  me,  at  least,  that  you  will  not  play  Hail  Colum- 
bia. My  nerves  are  so  very  weak,"  said  Podge,  apologeti- 
cally. 

"It  shall  be  as  you  wish.     I  will  not  perform  Hail  Colum- 


A    DISER-OnT    AT     BOMB.  239 

bin,  whatever  else  I  may  take  it  into  my  head  to  do.     So, 
bring  in  your  '  resources,'  my  boy,  and  I'll  produce  mine." 

In  a  few  moments,  Podge  appeared  at  the  door  of  Number 
One,  with  his  arms  full  of  "  resources,"  which  ho  proceeded 
to  lay  upon  his  fellow  lodger's  table — an  empty  barrel,  with 
an  old  door  laid  across  it,  the  whole  neatly  covered  with  a 
sheet,  freshly  aired.  Having  disencumbered  himself  of  a 
plate  of  red  herrings,  a  loaf  of  fresh  bread,  a  pot  of  warm 
tea,  which  he  had  just  taken  from  his  stove,  and  sundry 
other  luxuries  of  a  similar  nature,  Mr.  Podge  then  looked  up 
at  his  fellow  lodger,  and  finding  him  to  be  a  not  ill-looking 
fellow — although  his  clothes,  it  is  true,  were  somewhat  the 
worse  for  wear — he  advanced,  and  shook  him  by  the  hand. 

"How  d'ye  do,  Number  One  ?" 

"  Very  well,  Two !     How  are  you  3" 

"  Miserable,  I  thank  you  1" 

"  Glad  to  hear  it,  my  boy  !  So  nm  L  It's  a  villainous 
world,  sir,  ia  this!" 

"Very!"  replied  Podge,  seating  himself,  as  he  perceived 
that  the  other  did  the  same.  "  But  where's  your 
'  resources  !'  " 

"  Oh !  never  mind  mine,  my  dear  boy !  There's  plenty 
here  for  both  of  us!"  returned  Flint  (it  was,  indeed,  that 
omnipresent  personage),  with  the  most  nonchalant  air  imagin- 
able. . 

«  Yes— but— " 

Mr.  Flint  glanced  towards  tho   "table,"  and  Mr.  Podge 


240  VIOLET,   THE     CHILD     OF    THE     CITY. 

could  not  help  perceiving  that  his  neighbor  had  "come  it 
over  him." 

Having  by  this  time  become  a  little  more  intimate  with  his 
neighbor,  Mr.  Podge  ventured  to  make  an  inspection  of  the 
premises,  and  found  that,  in  point  of  comfort,  Flint's  apart- 
ment was  far  superior  to  his  own ;  for  the  latter  had  an  eye 
for  the  picturesque,  and  objects  of  every  description  were 
hung  about  the  place,  while  a  regiment  of  newspapers,  plas- 
tered overhead,  concealed  the  beams  and  rafters,  and  imparted 
to  the  place  a  less  desolate  appearance  than  that  which  was 
observable  about  his  own.  A  pair  of  rusty  foils,  boxing 
gloves,  a  few  colored  engravings,  illustrating  the  triumphs  of 
the  turf,  a  whip,  a  dog  collar  and  chain,  were  among  the 
various  objects  which  hung  from  the  partition ;  while,  directly 
over  the  head  of  Mr.  Flint's  cot,  was  suspended  a  huge  blun- 
derbuss— which  that  gentleman  had  placed  there  to  have 
ready  for  immediate  use,  in  case  of  anybody  attempting  to 
rob  him. 

Since  his  last  encounter  with  the  reader,  the  fortunes  of  Mr. 
Flint  had  undergone  a  variety  of  changes.  Growing  tired  of 
the  dullness  of  his  life  at  the  hovel  (indeed,  that  place  had 
been  getting,  for  some  time,  too  hot  to  hold  him),  he  had 
turned  his  attention  to  speculating  in  a  small  way ;  but  finding 
this  to  be  a  rather  hazardous  method  of  getting  a  living 
(because,  as  he  said,  he  had  nothing  to  speculate  on,  and  if  he 
ventured  to  borrow  a  handkerchief,  or  any  such  trifle,  he  was 
sure  to  be  overhauled  for  it,  and  his  motives  misinterpreted), 


A    DINER     OUT     AT    HOME.  241 

he  abandoned  it,  and  found  employment  as  bar-keeper  at  a 
famous  "ken,"  well  known  to  the  "fancy"  of  that  classic 
region  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  Tombs.  Here,  however,  ho 
drank  so  much  himself,  that  there  was  no  liquor  left,  half  tho 
time,  wherewith  to  serve  the  customers  ;  and  Flint,  in  conse- 
quence, lost  his  place.  He  next  earned  a  miserable  pittance 
by  standing  outside  the  counter  of  one  of  the  notorious  Peter 
Funk,  establishments  of  Chatham  row,  and  having  soon  gained 
an  insight  into  the  business,  he  set  up  for  himself — the  only 
capital  required  being  a  few  cases  of  knives,  some  tin  watches, 
a  lot  of  empty  boxes,  and  an  unlimited  supply  of  brass.  For 
the  rest  he  depended  upon  the  generosity  of  Crawley,  who  fre- 
quently employed  him  in  the  manner  already  noticed. 

In  his  personal  attire,  Flint  had  also  undergone  a  consider- 
able transmogrification.  The  same  pantaloons,  it  is  true,  were 
still  there  which  he  had  worn  on  former  occasions ;  but,  in 
other  respects  he  was  even  more  flashily,  though  quite  as 
seedily  dressed;  and  a  blue  body-coat,  with  bright  brass 
buttons,  on  which  Mr.  Flint  bestowed  much  labor  every  morn- 
ing, although  a  small  hole  was  beginning  to  be  visible  at  the 
elbows,  and  it  was  somewhat  too  short  in  the  sleeves,  and  too 
narrow  across  the  back,  was,  in  that  gentleman's  estimation, 
"just  the  thing." 

"  It's  a  villainous  world,  I  repeat  it !"  said  Mr.  Flint,  after 
watching  for  some  minutes  the  countenance  of  his  neighbor; 
who  was  engaged,  as  we  have  said,  in  taking  an  observation 
of  the  premises. 

u  Yes,"  replied  Podge,  severely  ;  and  with  a  marked  allu- 
11 


242  VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     OF    THE    CITT. 

sion  to  the  brilliant  exploit  just  performed  by  Flint — who, 
the  reader  will  by  this  time  understand,  while  Mr.  Podge  had 
been  investigating  the  aforesaid  vexed  question  with  regard  to 
his  boots,  had  been  engaged  in  the  investigation  of  another 
equally  vexing  under  the  circumstances,  and  quite  as  import- 
ant, namely  :  "  How  should  he  contrive  to  get  a  supper  ?" 
for  Flint  was  very  hungry,  and  he  had  been  for  nearly  one 
whole  week,  a  victim  to  a  certain  scientific  experiment,  sug- 
gested, strange  to  say,  by  a  clown  at  a  popular  circus — which 
experiment  consisted  in  eating  a  handful  of  dried  apples  for 
breakfast,  taking  a  drink  (at  a  pump)  for  dinner,  and  letting 
the  aforesaid  apples  swell  for  supper  ! — a  state  of  affairs  which 
Mr.  Flint  found  inadequate  to  the  support  of  life,  under  the 
circumstances. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Podge,  withdrawing  his  attention  from  the 
walls,  to  fix  it  upon  his  "  entertainer,"  who  had  already 
devoured  half  a  loaf  of  bread,  three  red  herrings,  half  a  dozen 
onions,  and  had  nearly  drained  the  tea-kettle  of  its  contents, 
"  it  is  a  villainous  world  !  Nothing  but  humbug  and  roguery 
in  it !"  and  then  Mr.  Podge  emitted  an  unearthly  chuckle,  at 
his  own  cleverness. 

"  Which  should  admonish  us,  my  friend,"  said  Mr.  Flint, 
"  to  be  very  cautious  in  our  actions.  The  greater  portion  of 
human  beings  are  so  many  eager  fishermen,  and  the  gudgeons 
are  the  green  ones,  who  are  so  easily  taken  in !" 

Mr.  Podge  winced,  as  if  somebody  had  "  fetched  him  one," 
and  concluded  not  to  try  satire  again — at  all  events,  for  that 
evening. 


A     DINER-OUT    AT     HOME.  243 

"  You  appear  to  have  met  with  reverses,"  said  Podge,  after 
a  brief  pause — during  which  the  noise  made  by  Mr.  Flint's 
gurgling  and  crunching  was  frightful  to  hear,  reminding  you 
very  forcibly  of  a  hippopotamus  treading  on  a  heap  of  withered 
branches. 

"  Did  you  ever  cross  to  Brooklyn  ?"  asked  Mr.  Flint  sud- 
denly. 

"  Often,"  rejoined  Podge,  unable  to  see  what  that  had  to  do 
with  his  question. 

"  And  watch  the  actions  of  the  steam-engine,  when  you  had 
nothing  else  to  do  ?"  continued  Flint. 

"  Oh !  yes — a  favorite  amusement  of  mine,"  answered 
Podge,  who  had  no  more  idea  of  what  a  steam-engine  was 
like,  than  he  had  of  what  was  going  on  in  the  moon  at  that 
particular  moment. 

"  You  may  have  observed  on  such  occasions,"  proceeded  the 
other,  "that  that  steam-engine  was  very  frequently  reversed, 
in  order  to  prevent  a  collision  with  other  craft  moving  on  the 
river.  Now,  sir,  I'll  be  so  frank  as  to  say — and  I  think  I  shall 
not  peril  my  character  for  veracity  in  saying  it — that  I  have 
met  with  quite  as  many  reverses,  on  an  average,  as  that 
steam-engine.  It's  a  bold  assertion,  I  admit;  nevertheless  it's 
true.  Yet  here  I  am,  you  see,  sound,  wind  and  gristle !" 

Mr.  Podge  saw  that  he  was  there,  and  in  that  fact  he  found 
the  most  potent  voucher  for  the  truth  of  what  his  companion 
had  been  saying. 

"You  appear  to  bear  your  misfortunes  remarkably  well, 
though,"  he  said. 


244  VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     OF     THE    01TY. 

"  Um — yes,"  answered  Mr.  Flint,  as  if  weighing  the  ques- 
tion; "but,  I'm  a  philosopher  in  these  matters,  and  I  always 
manage,  somehow  or  other,  to  come  off  with  safe  limbs  after  a 
tustle  with  misfortune ;  though  it's  a  villainous  world,  sir,  to 
make  the  best  of  it." 

And  having,  by  this  time,  finished  Podge's  supper  for  him, 
Mr.  Flint  removed  the  dishes  to  another  corner  of  the  room, 
and  brought  forth  from  the  recesses  of  a  mysterious  little  closet 
a  dark  brown  jug,  and  one  tumbler — reserving  for  himself  one 
of  Mr.  Podge's  tea-cups,  as  a  substitute  for  the  other  that  he 
hadn't, 

"  You  are  not  entirely  destitute  of '  resources,'  I  perceive," 
said  Podge,  with  a  jocose  smile. 

"The  real  supernaculum!'1''  replied  Flint,  filling  bum- 
pers. "  Here's  to  our  better  acquaintance,  my  boy,  and  may 
we  always  keep  our  attics  free  from — "  Mr.  Flint  finished 
the  sentence  by  a  wink,  and  turned  his  tea-cup  full  of  raw 
brandy  down  his  throat  as  if  it  had  been  a  funnel,  while  Mr. 
Podge,  to  show  that  he  wasn't  in  the  least  offended,  tossed  his 
spirits  down,  too — and  winked,  not  knowingly,  but  recklessly 
— for  the  brandy  wasn't  any  of  your  milk-and-water  tipple 
but  the  real  Simon  Pure,  as  Mr.  Flint  had  said ;  "  and  the 
best  of  it  is,"  added  that  gentleman,  "  there  wasn't  overmuch 
duty  paid  on  it,  either  !" 

At  which  alarming  point,  respecting  smuggled  goods,  Mr. 
Podge  glanced  around  the  room,  thought  of  the  custom-house 
officers,  and  turned  slightly  pale. 

"I — I  hope  you're  not  a — smuggler!"  stammered  Podge; 


A    DINER-OUT    AT    HOME.  246 

and  then  immediately  added,  "  excuse  me — I  really  meant  no 
offence ;"  for  he  saw  a  cloud  lowering  upon  his  companion's 
brow. 

What  Mr.  Flint's  answer  might  have  been,  there  is  no 
knowing ;  for,  at  that  moment,  there  came  a  knock  upon  the 
door,  and  Mr.  Flint  having  exclaimed,  in  vivid  recollection  of 
his  boyish  days,  "  open  locks,  whoever  knocks ;"  the  door  flew 
open  with  a  bang,  and  discovered  a  long,  skeleton-like 
individual,  clad  in  a  tightly-buttoned  suit  of  black,  through 
which  the  ribs  might  be  distinctly  counted,  and  having  on  his 
head  a  white,  crape-bound  hat,  and  in  his  right  hand  a  green 
umbrella,  while  the  left,  with  the  elbow  gracefully  crooked, 
reposed  upon  his  thigh. 

"  Come  in  !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Flint,  familiarly.  Whereupon 
the  skeleton  advanced,  by  a  series  of  jerks,  like  one  of  the 
Italian  fantoccini,  into  the  apartment,  his  umbrella  being 
elevated  to  his  shoulder.  But,  seeing  Podge  for  the  first 
time,  he  started  violently  back,  kept  the  green  umbrella 
rattling  upon  the  floor,  as  if  he  had  been  suddenly  attacked 
with  the  fever  and  ague,  and  throwing  a  look  of  assumed 
horror  at  Podge — who  had  braced  himself  against  the  parti- 
tion, which  he  seemed  to  be  trying  to  climb  up  backwards, 
with  his  staring  eyes  riveted  upon  the  phantom — the  intruder 
exclaimed,  in  the  style  of  Kean,  "  Eh — aidgels  ad  midisters 
of  a-grace  defed  us  !" 

Which  so  alarmed  Podge,  that  he  exclaimed,  with  a  shiver, 
"  I  hope,  sir,  you  won't  1-let  him  do  anything  v-violent !" 

"  Be  thou  a  spirit  of  health  ?" 


246  VIOLET,   THE    CHILD    OP   THE    CITY. 

"  Quite  healthy,  I'm  obliged  to  you,"  returned  Podge. 

— "  Or  goblin  damned  ?" 

"He's  a  lunatic,"  murmured  Podge,  in  despair. 

"  Bring  with  thee  airs  from  heaven,  or  blasts  from  a-hell, 
I'll  speak  to  thee  !"  and  suddenly  abandoning  his  assumed  for 
his  natural  tone,  the  phantom  advanced  frankly  towards  the 
trembling  Podge,  and  exclaimed — "  how  are  you  ?  how  do 
you  do  ?  I  hope  you're  well  ?" 

Upon  which,  Podge,  not  knowing  what  else  to  do,  stretch- 
ed out  his  hand,  and  the  stranger,  in  a  fit  of  absence  of  mind, 
placed  the  end  of  his  green  umbrella  in  it. 

"  Come — come,"  put  in  Mr.  Flint ;  "  smother  that  nonsense, 
my  boy,  and  take  a  '  snifter.'  And  the  alacrity  with  which 
the  phantom  disposed  of  the  '  snifter '  was  truly  astonishing. 

"  I  beg  a  thousand  pardons,"  suddenly  exclaimed  Mr.  Flint ; 
"  singular  obliviousness ;  Podge,  allow  me  to  introduce  you  to 
Mr.  Ferris—" 

Podge  looked  alarmed. 

"I  hope  you're  well,  sir,"  said  the  phantom  cordially, 
stepping  forward,  and  this  time  giving  his  hand  to  Podge — 
and  Podge  observed  that  he  wore  black  gloves,  and  that  the 
gloves  had  no  fingers.  "  Don't  trouble  yourself,  Flint — I'll 
do  it  myself,"  he  added,  as  Mr.  Flint  was  advancing  to  com- 
plete the  introduction  ;  "  my  name,  sir,  is  F.  Ferguson  Ferris, 
of  nowhere,  in  particular,  or  anywhere  you  can  find  me  !"  and 
he  handed  Podge  his  card. 

"  My  friend  Ferris  is  a  trump,  sir,"  said  Flint,  approvingly ; 
"you  must  cultivate  his  acquaintance,  indeed  you  must. 


A    DIXER-OUT     AT     HOME.  247 

He's  a  living  proof — a  walking  verification  of  the  villainy 
of  this  world  !  Once  a  merchant  in  most  flourishing  circum- 
stances, with  wealth,  health,  and  happiness,  and  twelve  small 
children,  to  give  a  zest  to  life,  behold  him  now  the  wreck  of 
what  he  was.  Why,  sir,  he  got  so  low  at  one  time,  that  I  was 
obliged  to  dive  to  the  bottom  of  a  well  to  find  him,  and  so 
high,  at  another  period  of  his  career,  that  we  behold 
him  in  the  fifth  story  of  a  museum,  playing  the  living 
skeleton  to  delighted  audiences  !  And  how  did  he  lose  this 
situation  ?  you  will  naturally  inquire.  I'll  tell  you,  sir — and  I 
assure  you  the  anecdote  is  worthy  of  record.  Finding  that 
he  was  a  '  card  ' — not  '  card,  a  piece  of  paper  ;'  but  '  card, 
anything  or  anybody  that  draws  money  into  an  exhausted  trea- 
sury ' — the  manager,  of  his  own  accord,  advanced  my  friend 
Ferris's  salary ;  but  Ferris  got  to  eating  extravagant  dinners, 
and  what  not,  and  drank  too  much  half-and-half  to  be  altoge- 
ther consistent  with  his  line  of  business ;  and  the  consequence 
was,  that  he  began  to  grow  fat,  and  was  discharged — when 
one  week  more  would  have  given  him  the  corporosity  of  an 
alderman.  Ferris — who,  as  you  perceive,  has  relapsed  to  his 
original  thinness — is  now  stump-speaker  at  temperance  meet- 
ings and  various  political  assemblages,  by  which  he  contrives 
to  earn  a  precarious  livelihood ;  and  it  is,  in  fact,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  attending  one  of  these  meetings  that  he  has  honored 
me  with  his  company  to-night." 

"  My  friend  says  nothing  but  what  is  strictly  correct,  I 
assure  you,"  added  Ferris,  "  but  he  has  omitted  a  single  item, 
which,  although  of  no  consequence  in  the  abstract,  it  may  bo 


248  VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     OF     THE     CITT. 

as  well  to  lug  in ;  I  have  the  honor  to  be,  sir,  a  member  of 
the  Charles  Kean  Dramatic  Association,  of  this  city.  Allow 
me,  sir,  to  present  you  with  a  ticket,"  and  he  handed 
Podge  a  square,  red  card,  with  a  spread  eagle  sitting  on  the 
head  of  Shakspeare  (seemingly  occupied  in  feeling  the  poet's 
bumps.),  and  having  emblazoned  on  it  the  name  of  the  asso- 
ciation, and  underneath,  in  a  vigorous  style  of  penmanship, 
the  words,  "  Mr.  Ferris's  night."  "  We  are  not  allowed  to 
sell  tickets,  as  a  business,  sir,"  proceeded  Ferris ;  "  but  any 
time  you  may  desire  to  expend  a  few  extraneous  quarters,  you 
may  gratify  the  charitable  propensity  by  subscribing  your 
name  to  a  paper — you  comprehend.  I  haven't  one  ready,  just 
now,  or  I'd  give  you  a  chance  as  it  is." 

"  Oh  !  never  mind,"  said  Podge ;  "  any  other  time  will  do 
«s  well." 

"  I  must  not  forget  to  mention,"  added  Mr.  Ferris,  "  that 
on  Thursday  night,  I  impersonate  Shakspeare's  celebrated 
character  of  '  Hamlet ' — 

'  To  be,  or  not  to  be — that  is  the  question !' 

on  which  occasion  I  hope  to  count  you  among  my  audience." 

"  I  shall  be  most  happy,"  returned  Podge. 

Another  libation  was  then  disposed  of  by  the  two,  and 
Podge  became  so  elated  on  the  strength  of  the  brandy,  that  he 
even  consented  to  accompany  Mr.  Flint,  and  the  ambitious 
Ferris,  to  Hum-drum  Hall,  where  the  Anti-punishnient-for- 
any-kind-of-crime  Society  was  that  night  to  hold  a  meeting, 
at  which  it  was  Ferris'a  intention  to  deliver  an  oration.  Ho 


A    DINER-OUT     AT     HOME.  249 

rushed  into  his  room,  hurried  on  his  clothes  ad  libitum,  and 
shortly  appeared  again  in  that  of  Mr.  Flint,  having  in  his  hand 
a  bunch  of  Havanas — a  present  from  some  acquaintance,  of 
course.  These  the  amateur  and  the  fancy  gentleman  grasped 
at  as  a  luxury,  and  lighting  their  cigars,  the  two  sallied  forth. 

We  will  not  describe  the  animation  and  enthusiasm  which 
prevailed  at  the  meeting  of  the  Anti-punishment-for-any-kind- 
of-crime  Society  that  night;  how  Mr.  Ferris  delivered  a  most  elo- 
quent speech,  in  which  he  tore  the  star-spangled  banner  into 
shreds,  and  completely  used  up  the  London  Association  for  the 
diffusion  of  returned  convicts — which,  he  said,  had  sentover  five 
thousand  burglars,  pickpockets,  and  so  forth,  to  America  during 
the  preceding  twelve  months,  thus  taking  the  bread  out  of  the 
mouths  of  many  of  our  own  fellow-citizeris — who  were  over- 
whelmed by  this  mighty  foreign  invasion,  as  cities  are  over- 
whelmed in  Switzerland  by  the  rush  of  the  mighty  avalanche. 
We  will  not  dwell,  either,  upon  the  vociferous  applause  with 
which  this  masterly  effort  of  genius  was  received  by  the 
densely-packed  audience,  for  the  details  were  next  morning 
disseminated  over  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  land  by  the 
public  prints,  and  the  reader,  if  he  will  take  the  trouble  to  look 
over  his  file  of  newspapers  (of  course  every  "  old  file"  preserves 
the  papers)  will  find  them. 

"  He's  a  wonderful  genius,  is  Ferris,"  said  Mr.  Flint,  when 
they  were  going  home  alone,  after  all  was  over;  "he'll  be 
some  'pumpkins,'  too,  before  he's  many  years  older,  I  can  tell 
you.  Aiming  for  Congress,  sir." 

"  No  !"  returned  Podge,  incredulously. 

11* 


250  VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     OP    THE    CITT. 

"  Fact,  sir  ! — mark  if  my  words  don't  come  true.  Already, 
sir,  the  prominent  part  which  he  has  taken  in  the  proceedings 
of  the  Anti-punishment-for-any-kind-of-crime  Society  has 
secured  him  the  patronage  of  the  responsible  editor  of  one 
of  our  leading  journals,  who  keeps  his  name  constantly  before 
the  public,  and  has  pronounced  several  of  his  speeches  to  be 
masterpieces,  in  their  way.  He'll  be  in  Congress  yet,  sir,  see 
if  he  don't — unless  some  disappointed  politician  shoots  him,  to 
prevent  his  going  there  ;  and  I  shouldn't  wonder,  considering 
the  luck  he's  had  all  along,  if  somebody  did  it — for  this  is  a 
villainous  world,  sir ;  a  villainous  world  !" 

And  here,  Mr.  Flint  having  attained  his  attic-door,  bolted  in, 
insisted  on  their  taking  another  glass  together,  for  the  purpose 
of  cementing  their  friendship,  and  then  bade  his  fellow-lodger 
good-niglit.  Podge,  overcome  by  the  liquor  he  had  drank, 
retired  immediately  to  bed,  where  he  got  so  far  as  to  pull  off 
one  boot  and  untie  his  cravat,  and  went  dead  asleep  against 
time — not  even  hearing  the  "  serenade"  which  Mr.  Flint  flat- 
tered himself  that  he  was  inflicting  upon  him. 


MONEY     GETS    TIGHT.  251 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

MONEY     GETS     TIGHT. 

ON  a  certain  evening  towards  the  close  of  the  year,  Pryco 
Benedick  prepared  to  leave  the  counting-house  with  less  than 
his  usual  alacrity.  The  foreign  mails  had  that  morning 
arrived  with  news  of  a  character  that  made  the  money 
market  sink  far  below  its  usual  wont ;  and  many  a  merchant 
who  had  that  morning  gone  to  his  business  with  a  cheerful  or 
careless  countenance,  returned  at  evening  with  a  cloud  upon 
his  brow.  On  Mr.  Benedick  the  news  seemed  to  have  fallen 
like  a  thunderbolt.  Some  little  insecurity  in  the  aspect  of 
affairs  for  some  weeks  past  had  caused  him  to  give  his  accounts, 
in  mercantile  parlance,  "  a  general  overhauling,"  and  the  weal  thy 
merchant  was  astounded  to  find  on  what  a  precipice  he  had 
been  standing.  Over-speculation,  in  fact,  had  so  shaken  both 
his  means  and  his  credit,  that  a  slight  convulsion  in  commer- 
cial circles  would  have  brought  the  crumbling  fabric  in  ruins 
about  his  ears. 

But  Pryce  was  not  altogether  devoid  of  sense.  "  Half  a 
loaf,"  he  thought,  recalling  one  of  his  deceased  father's  say- 
ings— "  half  a  loaf  is  better  than  none.  It  will  come  hard  to 
us  at  first,  but  we  must  retrench,  or  it  will  be  still  harder." 

To  say  retrench  was  a  very  easy  matter.    But  to  effect  tha 


252  VIOLET,    THE    CHILD    OF   THE   CIT7. 

thing — thai,  Pryce  felt,  would  not  be  quite  so  easy.  Mrs. 
Benedick  had  a  will  of  her  own,  as  he  had  more  than  once 
found,  to  his  cost,  and  the  most  difficult  thing  of  all  was  to 
break  it  to  her. 

The  family  were  all  assembled,  when  Pryce  got  home,  and 
were  gathered  in  a  circle  about  the  centre  table,  admiring  a 
magnificent  shawl,  which  Mrs.  Benedick  had  that  afternoon 
purchased  for  herself,  at  Stewart's,  at  the  moderate  figure  of 
one  thousand  dollars,  and  a  superb  necklace,  intended  for  her 
unmarried  daughter,  who  had  thus  far,  lacking  any  extrava- 
gant charms  herself,  tried  all  the  novelties  of  all  the  jewelers' 
stores  in  town  without  having  created  more  than  a  passing 
sensation.  That  there  was  something  uncommonly  hand- 
some, as  well  as  costly,  about  the  necklace,  may  be  inferred 
from  a  remark  which  htr  brother  had  condescended  to  make 
during  the  evening  : — 

"  If  that  don't  fetch  'em,"  he  said,  "  I  don't  know  what 
will." 

The  entrance  of  Mr.  Benedick  himself  cut  short  whatever 
other  remarks  Max  might  have  intended  to  bestow  on  the 
subject ;  on  seeing  his  father,  Max  merely  said — not  as  to  a 
parent,  but  as  one  man  of  the  world  might  say  to  another — 
"  How  do,  governor  !  any  news  in  the  money  circles  to-day  ? 
Want  two  or  three  hundred  myself  to-morrow.  Dodger's 
nag's  come  to  town,  and  I've  agreed  to  swap  mine  off  for 
his." 

"  You'd  better  let  Dodger  and  his  nag  alone,  sir,"  replied 
Pryce,  sternly. 


MONEY     GETS     TIGHT.  253 

"  What's  the  row,  now,  governor  ?"  asked  Max,  who  was 
about  to  leave  the  room,  and  who  now  perceived  for  the  first 
time  the  cloud  upon  the  brow  of  his  honored  parent. 

"  You  shall  know  presently,"  was  the  answer.  "  All  I  have 
to  say  to  you  now  is,  to  request  that  you  will  go  into  the 
library,  and  wait  for  me  till  I  come.  You'll  find  books  there 
to  amuse  you,"  Pryce  added,  sarcastically. 

"  Books !  thank  you,  governor :  I  went  there  one  day  to 
look  for  something,  and  ruined  a  suit  of  clothes  by  the  expe- 
riment." 

"  Well — wait  there,  at  any  rate." 

"  Better  be  spry  about  it,  then,"  rejoined  Max,  going  out. 
u  Got  an  engagement  at  six,  and  couldn't  wait  after  that  if  the 
world  was  on  fire." 

"  Children  are  not  what  they  used  to  be,  or  they'd  have 
some  respect  for  their  father,"  growled  Pryce,  as  his  son 
retreated.  "  Helen,  will  you  oblige  me  by  seeing  that  Max 
doesn't  get  impatient  ? — that's  a  good  girl." 

"  What  next,  I  wonder,"  growled  Helen,  as  she  banged  the 
door  after  her. 

"  Mr.  Benedick,"  said  his  amiable  helpmate,  with  a  stare 
of  fashionable  surprise — "  are  you  mad,  or  have  you  been 
indulging  in  something  stronger  than  gooseberry  this 
evening  ?" 

"  You  may  well  say  stronger"  he  returned,  rather  empha- 
tically. "  If  there  is  anything  to  which  I  can  liken  the  dose 
I  have  taken  to-day,  it  would  be  gall.  Mrs.  Benedick, 


254  VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     OF    THE    CITT. 

prepare  your  mind  for  shocking  disclosures  :  I  am  a  RUINED 
MAN  !" 

"  Ruined,  Mr.  Benedick  !" 

The  woman  of  fashion  experienced,  for  the  first  time  in 
many,  many  years,  something  like  a  natural  emotion.  The 
word  seemed  to  have  paralyzed  her,  and  there  she  sat,  with 
her  recently  purchased  luxuries  about  her,  unable  to  utter 
another  syllable.  She  had  heard  that  dreadful  word  applied 
to  others,  and  had  laughed  to  hear  it ;  but  now  that  it  had 
come  home  to  her,  she  began  to  comprehend  it  in  all  the  fear- 
ful intensity  of  its  meaning. 

"  Yes,  wife — ruined.  I  have  done  my  best  to  ward  off  the 
blow  that  falls  so  heavily  upon  us  both — I  have  made  every 
sacrifice  that  my  business  would  admit  of  making — and 
have  pushed  my  credit  until  I  can  push  it  no  farther.  All 
that  is  to  be  done  is,  to  look  our  new-born  troubles  full  in  tho 
face,  and  to  make  the  best  of  them,  as  others  have  dono 
before  us." 

"  That's  very  philosophical,  and  would  look  very  nice  on 
paper,"  said  Mrs.  Benedick,  summoning  all  her  courage  to 
hear  the  worst.  "  But  for  people  in  our  position  some  things 
may  not  be  quite  so  easy  to  bear  as  others." 

"  We  must  bear  what  has  come  upon  us,  nevertheless,  and 
the  further  we  advance  to  meet  misfortune  the  less  wo  shall 
feel.  Briefly,  the  condition  of  affairs  is  this  :  I  have  been 
over-speculating,  in  view  of  the  expected  rise  in  property,  until 
all  my  spare  cash  is  locked  up  in  houses  and  lands.  Property, 


MONEY    GETS    TIGHT.  255 

however,  has  experienced  a  sudden  reverse,  and  is  selling  at 
rates  perfectly  ruinous  to  recent  purchasers.  Stocks  have 
fallen  lower  than  has  been  known  for  many  years ;  and,  as  if 
to  prove  that  misfortunes  never  visit  us  singly,  an  insurance 
concern  in  which  I  am  largely  interested  has  just  failed.  I 
have  postponed  the  disclosure  until  now,  in  the  hope  that 
something  might  occur  to  turn  the  scale  in  our  favor ;  but  on 
the  top  comes  a  whole  budget  of  dispiriting  news  from  abroad, 
and  I  am  at  last  under  the  necessity  of  giving  way  before  the 
pressure." 

"  But  what  are  we  to  do,  then  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Benedick,  with 
a  look  of  genuine  affright. 

"  There  is  only  one  course  left  for  us,"  replied  Mr.  Benedick, 
pale  as  death,  but  as  firm  as  marble  ;  "  we  must  retrench." 

"Retrench!"  returned  his  wife,  absolutely  aghast  at  the 
idea. 

"  Certainly.     There  is  nothing  impossible  in  that." 

"Retrench,  indeed  !  Why,  Mr.  Benedick,  you  do  not  know 
what  you  are  saying.  Suppose  things  do  look  dark  for  us, 
the  world  does  not  know  the  difference,  and  where's  the  use 
of  living  if  one  cannot  keep  up  appearances  ?" 

"  There  it  goes  !"  said  Pryce,  impatiently ;  "  keeping  up 
appearances  is  all  that  one  half  of  your  sex  think  of.  Remem- 
ber what  our  friends,  the  Lyles,  got  by  trying  to  keep  up 
appearances.  For  the  sake  of  keeping  up  appearances  some 
women  will  break  their  husbands'  hearts,  ruin  their  fortunes, 
and  entail  never-ending  misery  upon  themselves  and  their 
descendants.  The  dread  of  being  outdone  in  splendor  by 


256  VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     OF    THE     CITT. 

their  neighbors  is  to  such  women  far  more  potent  than  the 
desire  to  make  their  households  happy.  When  will  this 
frightful  nightmare  of  society  be  vanquished  ?" 

Ah  !  Pryce — you  talk  capitally  now.  How  was  it  that  you 
did  not  act  upon  this  belief  before  ? 

"  If  concealment  were  possible,"  continued  Mr.  Benedick, 
"  we  might  indeed  still  persist  in  glossing  over  our  ticklish 
situation,  as  more  than  one  of  our  fashionable  friends  are  doing 
at  this  moment.  But  the  hour  for  disguises  has  gone  by. 
Read  that !" 

And  Pryce  placed  in  his  wife's  hands  a  newspaper,  contain- 
ing a  rumor  of  his  coming  failure. 

For  a  moment  Mrs.  Benedick  was  silent.  But  suddenly  a 
light  dawned  in  her  eyes.  f 

"  This  is  all  clear  enough  to  ourselves,"  she  said ;  "  but  no 
names  are  mentioned,  and  perhaps " 

"  True,  no  names  are  given,  but  the  fact  of  my  coming  ruin 
is  as  well  known  to-day  on  Change  as  the  news  by  the  steamer." 

"  But  this  paragraph  is  not  true.  It  says  that  you  have 
done  some  things  that — that — good  heavens,  Pryce!  you 
have  not  made  use  of  the  names  of  others  without  their 
consent  ?" 

"  The  account  exaggerates,  but  there  is  some  ground  for  all 
that  it  contains.  You  see  I  came  home  determined  to  be 
candid  with  you." 

"  Oh !  Pryce — Pryce — why  have  you  done  such  a  thing  ?" 

"Can  you  ask  me  why?"  he  replied,  sternly,  and  casting 
upon  her  as  he  spoke  a  glanco  beneath  which  her  own  eyes 


MONEY     GETS     TIGHT.  257 

quickly  sought  the  floor.  "  Whence  came  the  immense  sums 
— the  apparently  inexhaustible  appliances  from  which  the 
support  of  your  costly  and  magnificent  entertainments  has 
been  derived  ?  How  could  you  suppose  that  all  this  extrava- 
gance was  to  be  sustained,  knowing  as  you  did  the  extent  of 
my  income  and  your  own  ?  Aye,  weep !  it  will  do  you  good, 
Louise,  if  there  is  one  corner  in  your  heart  yet  uncorroded 
by  the  blight  of  fashion !  You  knew  as  well  as  I  that  wo 
were  incurring  debts  that  might — that  probably  never  would 
be  defrayed,  and  yet,  with-  this  knowledge  constantly  before 
you,  you  plunged  recklessly  into  the  whirlpool  of  fashion- 
able dissipation.  Our  dishonor  was  certain — our  ruin 
complete.  There  was  but  oco  course  left.  Alice,  my 
brother's,  must  be  the  victim.  For  a  short  time  the  means 
answered  the  end.  Then  came  the  necessity  for  concealment. 
I  thought  of  you  and  of  our  children,  and  to  save  them  for  a 
brief  while  longer  the  knowledge  of  a  father's  shame,  I  plunged 
still  deeper  into  dishonor.  I  have  succeeded,"  he  concluded, 
"  in  getting  my  creditors  to  take  into-  consideration  a  proposal 
for  a  compromise,  and  my  standing  hitherto  may  avert  from 
my  unsullied  name  the  disgrace  of  a  public  exposure. 
"Whether  that  takes  place,  depends,  Louise,  upon  ourselves — 

upon  you  I" 

"  I  am  in  a  maze  of  doubt  and  confusion.     How — in  what 

way  are  we  to  begin  ?" 

"  We  must  immediately  set  about  reducing  our  expenses, 
which  are,  at  present,  enormous,  and  hardly  justifiable  under 


258  VIOLET,   THE    CHILD    OF   THE   CITY. 

any  circumstances,  when  we — hem !  when  we  consider  the 
want  and  privation  going  on  around  us." 

Mr.  Benedick  said  this  really  with  a  glow  upon  his  cheek, 
for  he  remembered  his  own  delinquencies  in  this  particular^ 

"I  fear  that  what  you  say  is  only  the  truth,"  rejoined  his 
wife. 

"  Well,  then — I  am  glad  you  are  so  reasonable — the  first 
item  I  propose  to  operate  upon  is  your  carriage." 

"  Pryce — my  carriage !" 

"  Yes,  your  carriage." 

"  That  beautiful,  unique  turn-out  that  we  bought  of 

&  Co.,  the  fashionable  carriage-makers,  only  this  season !" 

"  And  which  you  will  bear  in  mind  we  have  not  yet  paid 
for,  my  dear." 

"  That  is  of  no  account.     Tradesmen  can  wait." 

"  They  can,  but  they  won't,  my  dear !  Sometimes  they 
prove  to  be  obstinate,  and  in  such  cases  a  suit — eh  ?  What 
say  you  ?  Shall  we  return  the  vehicle  to  its  owner,  and  frankly 
acknowledge  that  we  are"  too  much  embarrassed  to  pay  him  ?" 

"  Oh,  shocking !    I  should  never  have  the  face.    And  think, 

O  ,  * 

too — what  would  the  Cummingses  say  ?" 

"  Say  ?  Why,  if  thrir  opinion  is  worth  having  at  all,  that 
we  are  honest  people,  and  have  too  high  a  sense  of  what  is 
right  and  just  to  make  others  suffer  from  the  fruits  of  our 
folly." 

"  We  shall  have  to  walk,  too,  to  our  next  invitation.  How 
shocking !" 


MONEY    GETS    TIGHT.  259 

"  It  would  be  shocking,  I  allow." 

"  Of  course  ;  I  knew  you  would." 

"And  therefore,  to  prevent  mortifications,  we  must  refuse  in. 
future  all  invitations  that  may  be  sent  us." 

"  Why,  my  dear  Pryce,  you  will  positively  make  me  laugh. 
Refuse  an  invitation  !  What  should  I  think  if  my  friends 
were  to  treat  me  thus  ?" 

"  You  must  give  no  more  'jams,'  my  dear,  and  then  they 
will  have  no  chance  to  complain." 

All  this  was  dreadful  to  think  of,  and  it  went  near  to  kill 
Mrs.  Benedick.  But  there  was  no  way  of  avoiding  the  sacri- 
fice, and  the  thing  was  done.  Pryce  Benedick  divided  the 
greater  portion  of  his  property  among  his  creditors,  and  retired 
with  his  family  and  just  enough  to  live  upon,  to  his  country- 
seat  on  the  Hudson,  a  "  ruined  man,"  as  some  termed  him,  but 
if  he  had  rightly  known  his  own  position,  with  prospects  of 
happiness  far  brighter  than  he  had  ever  known  before.  Max, 
however,  could  not  "  stand  "  the  country ;  he  was  not  cut  out 
for  a  clod-hopper,  he  said,  and  as  he  had  a  little  money  of  his 
own,  bequeathed  to  him  by  a  relative  not  long  deceased,  he 
started  for  Europe,  as  "  the  only  place  where  a  feller  could  live 
with  any  degree  of  comfort."  Helen  was  not  more  enamored 
of  rural  life,  and  shortly  afterward  eloped  with  an  officer  in 
the  army — in  short,  Major  Dabster.  As  for  Mrs.  Benedick, 
she  fell  sick  immediately  upon  her  removal  from  her  splendid 
mansion ;  and  even  Alice  having  been  torn  from  them, 
Pryce  was  left  alone  to  minister  to  her  wants :  a  desolate 
man. 


260  VIOLET,   THE    CHILD    OF    THE    CITY. 

One  day — the  same  on  which  the  Benedicks  left  the  city 
for  ever — a  group  of  men  fell  into  conversation  in  front  of  the 
Exchange.  There  was  a  great  deal  of  laughing  and  joking 
among  the  crowd,  most  of  whom  seemed  intent  on  the  same 
subject,  and  presently  two  of  them  turned  away,  talking — 
one  was  Cousin  Minns,  and  the  other  the  self-same  gentle- 
man whom  the  Benedicks  had  striven  to  decoy  into  a  match 
with  their  youngest  daughter. 

"I  thought  he'd  come  to.it  at  last,"  said  Minns,  whose  lips 
had  scarce  yet  lost  the  taste  of  the  last  oyster  supper  he  had 
eaten  at  Benedick's  expense.  "No  one  can  support  such 
extravagance  long,  and  survive." 


MISFORTUNES     NEVER     COME     SINGLY.  261 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

MISFORTUNES    NEVER   COME    SINGLY. 

THE  day  came  at  last  when  Herbert  was  to  enter  upon  the 
practice  of  his  duties  as  a  member  of  the  bar,  and  all  was 
bustle  and  confusion  at  the  Cottage.  Herbert  had  taken 
rooms  in  Wall  street,  determined  on  making  a  bold  dash  for 
business,  and  already  a  gilt  sign,  with  Herbert  Humphreys, 
Attorney  and  Counsellor  at  Law,  conspicuously  blazoned  upon 
it,  indicated  the  way  to  his  office.  Mr.  Humphreys  saw  the 
place  comfortably  furnished ;  Violet  busied  herself  embroidering 
curtains,  and  in  fabricating  a  skull-cap  and  a  pair  of  slippers, 
that  Herbert  might  do  the  thing  in  style.  There  were  books 
and  other  appurtenances  in  abundance.  Nothing  was  wanting 
but  the  clients,  and,  as  Herbert  said,  after  a  month  had  gone 
by  without  bringing  the  expected  rush  of  applicants,  "  that 
was  the  worst  of  it !"  Still,  however,  he  did  not  allow  himself 
to  feel  discouraged,  but  continued  patiently  studying  to  master 
the  difficulties  that  presented  themselves — well-knowing  that, 
in  the  end,  perseverance  must  be  rewarded. 

While  Herbert,  the  child  of  adversity,  was  thus  laboring  to 
better  his  condition,  happy  in  the  consciousness  of  his  own 
good  intentions,  and  in  the  applause  of  those  for  whom  he 


262  VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     OF    THE    CITS'. 

thus  exerted  himself,  Max  Benedick,  the  son  of  prosperity,  was 
ruining  health  and  happiness  by  a  style  of  living  which,  it 
was  evident,  if  persisted  in,  could  only  lead  to  ruin. 

In  the  meanwhile  the  plans  of  Crawley  were  arriving  at 
maturity,  and  he  was  only  awaiting  a  favorable  opportunity  to 
put  them  in  successful  operation. 

Things  were  in  this  position  when  an  incident  occurred 
which  totally  altered  the  aspect  of  affairs  at  the  Cottage. 
Violet  had  one  morning  betaken  herself  to  the  garden,  to 
indulge  in  her  favorite  stroll  by  the  river's  side  (Mr.  Humph- 
reys and  Herbert  had  gone  to  town  together,  and  Mrs. 
Marston  was  on  a  visit  among  some  of  the  neighbors),  when 
two  rough-looking  men  darted  suddenly  upon  her  from  the 
shrubbery,  where  they  had  been  concealed,  and  twisting  a 
handkerchief  round  her  mouth  to  prevent  her  outcries,  hurried 
her  towards  a  boat  that  was  lying  in  wait.  This  precaution 
was,  however,  unnecessary,  for  she  had  been  so  frightened  at 
the  occurrence  that  she  had  swooned  on  being  first  approached 
by  her  abductors.  While  the  two  ruffians  were  conveying 
her  to  the  boat,  others  had  entered  the  cottage  (Biddy  took  to 
flight  the  moment  she  saw  them),  and  after  ransacking  it 
until  their  desires  were  satisfied,  set  fire  to  the 'curtains  and 
hastily  abandoned  the  premises. 

The  excitement  occasioned  by  this  high-handed  outrage 
knew  no  bounds. '  Mr.  Humphreys  caused  an  advertisement  to 
be  inserted  in  several  of  the  papers,  offering  rewards  for  the 
detection  of  the  perpetrators,  but  all  to  no  purpose.  Equally 
vain  were  the  personal  efforts  of  the  old  man  and  Herbert. 


MISFORTUNES     NEVER    COME     SINGLT.  263 

They  could  only  hope  that  time  would  dissolve  the  mystery 
•which  attended  the  transaction. 

As  if  to  illustrate  the  old  saying,  that  misfortunes  never 
come  singly,  Mr.  Humphreys  was  destined  to  experience  still 
further  reverses. 

Since  the  partial  destruction  of  the  Cottage,  Mr.  Humph- 
reys had  been  considerably  embarrassed  in  his  circumstances 
by  the  failure  of  a  company  in  which  he  was  concerned,  and 
the  future  was  beginning  to  look  gloomy  enough  to  both  the 
old  man  and  Herbert.  They  were  seated  one  day,  shortly 
after  the  fire,  in  the  little  parlor,  now  so  gloomy  and  deserted, 
discoursing  of  past  occurrences  and  future  prospects. 

"  If  things  do  not  alter  for  the  better,"  said  Mr.  Humphreys, 
in  the  course  of  their  disconsolate  conversation,  "  I  shall  have 
to  return  to  business,  although  my  conscience  tells  me  that  I 
ought  to  have  been  condemned,  long  ago,  as  unseaworthy." 

"Never,  sir,"  replied  Herbert,  energetically;  "you  are  old,  and 
the  hardships  of  the  city  are  too  much  for  any  one  to  endure 
at  your  time  of  life.  I  will  work  my  fingers  to  the  bone — I 
will  do  anything  however  humble,  rather  than  that  you 
should  be  put  to  trouble.  Nay,  I  will  go  to  sea ;  I  am  young 
and  strong,  and  with  youth  and  strength  on  my  side,  who 
knows  what  I  may  not  achieve  in  my  new  profession  ?" 

"  You're  a  good  boy,  Herbert,"  was  Mr.  Humphreys'  cau- 
tious answer  ;  "  but  you  forget  that  you  would  be  compelled 
to  leave  behind  you,  perhaps  for  years,  an  old  man  whose 
infirmities  are  growing  upon  him  every  hour,  and  who  is  no 
longer  strong  enough  to  breast  the  storm  unaided.  No,  no, 


264  VIOLET,     THE     CHILD     OF    THE     CUT. 

boy — try  something  else.  The  sea  is  a  dangerous  element, 
and  many  are  the  young  hopes  and  trusting  hearts  that  lie 
buried  in  its  treacherous  depths.  So  that  idea  must  be 
abandoned,  too." 

Their  conversation  was  here  brought  to  a  termination  by  a 
gentle  knock  at  the  door ;  and,  Herbert  having  shouted  to 
the  visitor  to  come  in,  it  opened,  and  the  space  was  partly 
filled  up  by  a  lean,  speculative  personage,  who  advanced  into 
the  apartment  with  a  small  gold  snuff-box  in  his  hand,  and 
looked  with  a  scanning  eye  upon  the  various  objects,  as  if 
calculating  what  they  would  bring,  if  disposed  of  under  the 
hammer.  In  the  dusky  atmosphere  of  the  entry  beyond  were 
dimly  visible  two  burly  figures — which  fact,  however,  was 
unnoticed  by  Herbert  and  his  protector,  the  attention  of  both 
being  riveted  upon  the  intruder. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  gentlemen,  for  disturbing  you  so  early 
this  pleasant  morning ;  but,  ahem  !  business  is  business,  you 
know,  and  time  and  tide  wait  for  no  man — not  even  for  us. 
Ahem !" 

"  To  what  circumstance  may  we  attribute  the  honor  of  this 

visit  ?"  asked  Herbert,  with  a  look  of  plain  dislike. 

0 

"  Why,  really,  gentlemen,  I'm  sorry  to  be  the  bearer  of  ill- 
tidings,  but  business  is  business,  you  know,  and  must  be 
attended  to.  In  short,  I  have  the  honor  to  be  an  agent  for 
the  company  in  which  these  premises  are  insured,  and  sus- 
picious circumstances  having  developed  themselves " 

"  Why,  you  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  suspect  Mr. 
Humphreys  of  playing  the  incendiary?"  cried  Herbert,  fiercely. 


MISFORTUNES     NEVER     COME     SINGLT.  265 

"  The  law  must  decide  that  point,  young  gentleman.  / 
have  only  my  duty  to  perform,"  replied  the  tender-hearted 
visitor,  taking  out  his  note  book,  and  beginning  to  make 
memoranda  of  the  different  articles  about  him.  "  In  the  pri- 
vate relations  of  life,  you  will  find  no  one  more  charitable 
than  myself;  but  this  is  a  very  different  matter.  Business  is 
business,  and — ahem ! — you  may  come  in,  Messrs.  Grasp  and 
Catchem  ;  you  may  come  in." 

At  this  bidding,  the  two  burly  individuals  aforesaid  walked 
coolly  into  the  apartment,  and  one  of  them,  as  if  he  were 
about  to  confer  a  favor,  stepped  up  to  the  old  gentleman,  and 
presented  him  a  neatly  folded  paper,  with  the  air  of  one  who 
gives  another  the  title  deeds  to  a  fortune. 

la  vain  Herbert  besought  them  to  deal  gently  with  his  pro- 
tector. 

"It's  our  perfession,"  replied  the  official,  apologetically, 
"  and  we  can't  stop  for  to  be  perlite  on  such  occasions." 

"Come,  come,  there,  gentlemen,"  exclaimed  the  visitor, 
whose  name  was  Gripe,  sharply ;  "  I've  nearly  finished  my 
inventory,  and  I  find  you  still  palavering  with  your  prisoners." 
Whereupon  the  officers  made  a  demonstration  towards  Mr. 
Humphreys,  but  Herbert  seizing  the  poker  from  the  grate — 
by  some  accident  it  happened  to  be  red  hot — rushed  between 
the  officers  and  the  object  of  their  attachment,  and  brandish- 
ing his  formidable  weapon,  bade  them  stand  off. 

"  You  shall  not  touch  him !  he  shall  not  go  to  jail ;  I  will 
die  before  he  shall  go  there  !"  he  shouted  frantically,  and 
again  the  poker  whirled  about,  the  heads  of  the  surprised 

12 


266  VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     OF     THE     CITT. 

functionaries,  with  a  vehemence  which  admonished  them  to 
keep  their  distance.  Watching  his  opportunity,  however,  one 
of  the  officers  succeeded  by  a  dexterous  movement  in  wrench- 
ing the  instrument  of  vengeance  from  Herbert's  grasp,  and  a 
struggle  ensued,  which  might  have  ended  disastrously  for 
Herbert,  had  not  a  strange  voice  been  heard  to  exclaim  from 
the  landing: 

"  That's  it,  my  fighting  cock  !  Go  it,  little  one  !  Aha  !  a  few- 
more  touches  like  that  will  bring  you  off,  covered  with  glory  !" 

And  then  there  was  a  sudden  rush  made  into  the  apart- 
ment by  somebody  unknown ;  a  succession  of  sounds,  as  of 
the  application  .of  a  pair  of  very  determined  "  fives  "  to  some- 
body's ears ;  and  the  next  moment,  Messrs.  Gripe,  Grasp,  and 
Catchem  were  lying  miscellaneously  about  the  room,  with 
looks  expressive  of  the  severe  treatment  to  which  they  had 
been  exposed. 

Having  accomplished  this  daring  exploit  to  his  entire  satis- 
faction, the  hero  of  the  fight  very  coolly  threw  his  legs 
astraddle  over  a  chair,  and  leaning  with  his  arms  upon  the 
back,  deliberately  surveyed  the  scene  before  him,  whistling, 
the  while,  his  favorite  fragment  from  "  Lovely  Rose." 

"Assault  and  battery — a  flagrant  case — you're  all  wit- 
nesses," exclaimed  Gripe,  when  he  found  himself  able  to  rise, 
and  thinking  not  of  the  bruises  he  had  received,  but  of  the 
damages  that  the  law  might  award  him. 

"Violence  prepense  and  aforeconsidered,"  added  Grasp, 
following  his  employer's  example,  and  rubbing  his  flanks 
wofully,  as  he  regained  his  upright  position. 


MISFORTUNES     NEVER    COME     SINGLY.  267 

"  Interruptin'  of  the  officers  of  the  law  in  their  solemn 
duty,"  groaned  Mr.  Catchem,  with  one  hand  upon  his  bowels, 
and  a  large  tear  in  each  eye. 

"  Oh,  sir,  I'm  afraid  that  you've  got  yourself  in  trouble  on 
my  account,"  said  Herbert,  taking  the  intruder's  hand,  and 
shaking  it  heartily. 

"  Oh,  not  in  the  least,  young  'un,"  replied  Mr.  Flint  (for  he 

it  was),  with  an  air  of   astonishing  composure,  "I've  seen 

> 
these  grigs  Jjefore  to-day — they  know  me  well  enough ;  how 

are  ye,  Grasp  2  how-de-do,  Catchem,  my  boy  ?" 

"  In  for  it  again,  Tim  ?"  said  Grasp ;  "  it  s  some  months 
since  we've  had  the  pleasure  of  your  company,  and  this 
time,  we  calculate,  you'll  make  a  longer  stay  than  usual." 

And  hereupon  Mr.  Catchem,  who  was  examining  the  limbs 
of  his  employer,  to  see  if  any  of  them  were  broken,  began 
whistling  to  himself. 

"  No,  thank  you,  Billy ;  much  obliged  to  ye  for  the  invita- 
tion ;  but,  as  I've  an  engagement  to  meet  some  ladies  at  the 
Points  to-night,  I  don't  think  I  shall  be  able  to  come." 

"  None  o'  your  nonsense,  now,  Tim,"  replied  Grasp  ;  "  it's 
very  unpleasant  for  us,  we  allow  ;  but  where  there's  no  help 
for  it,  you  know — " 

"  Of  course,"  said  Catchem ;  "  our  friend,  Flint,  respects  the 
dignity  o'  the  law  too  much  to  see  its  mandates  violated. 
Oh !  everything's  in  form,"  he  added,  producing  the  writ. 
"  You  see — fact  is — old  man,  here — hard  times — long  score 
run  up — no  funds — house  takes  fire — strong  suspicions — " 


268  VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     OF    THE     CITT. 

These  disjointed  pieces  of  information  he  half-whispered  in 
Mr.  Flint's  ear. 

"A  hard  case  it  is,"  remarked  the  latter  gentleman, 
thoughtfully.  "  The  whole  affair  is  in  a  nut-shell.  This  gen- 
tleman here,  being  burned  out  and  robbed  into  the  bargain, 
the  law  says  he  must  take  lodgings  at  its  expense — " 

"And  very  considerate  of  it,  too,"  put  in  Mr.  Catchem. 

"But  you,  sir — your  countenance  is  not  marked  with 
cruelty  like  theirs ;  you  will  prevent  this  act  of.  gross  injus- 
tice, will  you  not  ?"  asked  Herbert,  appealing  to  Flint. 

"  I'm  a/raid  there's  no  help  for  it,  my  young  gentleman," 
replied  Flint.  "  You  see,  money's  wanted  here,  and,  as  you 
don't  appear  to  have  any,  and  as  I  haven't  got  a  rap  myself, 
and  old  snipes,  there,  don't  appear  disposed  to  accommodate, 
why,  the  law,  as  he  says,  must  take  its  course — unless, 
indeed — " 

"Ay,  unless,"  said  Herbert,  anxiously,  while  the  officers 
and  Mr.  Gripe  leaned  forward  to  catch  the  suggestion. 

"  Unless  our  good  friends,  here,  Mr.  Grasp  and  the  gen- 
tlemen were  to  let  the  old  fellow  go  on  their  own  responsi- 
bility. Eh,  now,  boys  1  what  do  you  say  to  it  ?"  asked  Flint, 
very  gravely. 

A  gentle  burst  of  laughter,  and  the  joint  exclamation  of 
"that's  a  good 'un,"  from  both  the  officers  simultaneously, 
was  the  answer  to  Mr.  Flint's  curious  proposal. 

"  Come — come,  we're  wasting  time,"  exclaimed  Gripe, 
impatiently. 


MISFORTUNES     NEVER     COME    SINGLY.  269 

"  And  must  he  go,  then  ?"  sighed  Herbert,  with  a  look  of 
the  utmost  despair,  and  embracing  his  protector  as  he 
spoke. 

"  There's  no  help  for  it,  my  young  gentleman,  just  now," 
replied  Flint,  "  but,  depend  upon  it,  he  won't  remain  there 
long.  You  have  friends  that  you  are  little  aware  of,  who  will 
obtain  the  release  of  the  old  covey,  there,  and  make  you  both 
happy  and  comfortable  for  life." 

Mr.  Flint  then  requested  a  private  interview  with  the  offi- 
cers, before  they  proceeded  to  the  performance  of  their  duty  , 
which  request  being  complied  with,  that  gentleman  retired 
into  the  entry  with  Messrs.  Grasp  and  Catchem,  with  whom, 
in  a  few  minutes,  he  re-entered  the  room — the  faces  of  all 
three  beaming  with  satisfaction.  The  officers  then  advised 
Mr.  Gripe  to  "  settle  it  amicably"  with  Mr.  Flint,  who,  they 
said,  was  ready  to  pay  handsomely  for  the  damage  he  had 
occasioned,  under  a  mistaken  notion  of  the  position  of  things. 
They  then  separated  Herbert  from  Humphreys,  on  whose 
neck  the  youth  had  thrown  himself,  the  old  man,  in  his  sud- 
den stupefaction,  uttering  not  a  syllable,  except  to  bless  him, 
and  began  descending  the  stairs,  followed  by  Herbert,  and 
likewise  by  Flint,  who  merely  paused  to  wring  Gripes'  hand, 
at  the  same  time  leaving  in  it  a  ten  dollar  bill ;  which  Gripa 
thought,  at  the  time,  extremely  liberal,  but  which  he  shortly 
afterward  found,  to  his  sorrow  and  chagrin,  to  be  counterfeit. 

"  Such  is  life !" 


270  VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     OF     THE     CITY. 


CHAPTER   XXXII. 

THE    DRAMATIC    ASSOCIATION. 

THERE  are  men — old,  gray-headed,  self-opinionated  men — 
who  have  passed  their  entire  lives  in  the  midst  of  the  din  and 
bustle  of  the  city,  scarcely  venturing  out  of  it  as  far  as 
Hoboken  or  Staten  Island,  for  a  breath  of  unadulterated  air 
(and  even  on  such  occasions  refusing  to  wander  out  of  sight 
of  their  beloved  mausoleum  of  bricks  and  mortar,  wherein  so 
many  young  ambitious  hopes  are  yearly  buried,  lest,  in  their 
absence,  it  might  take  unto  itself  wings,  and  fly  away),  and 
who  look  upon  Coney  Island  as  the  veritable  ultima  thule — 
seriously  believing  that  it  has  a  governor,  and  yields  a  large 
vote  towards  the  popular  elections ;  who  have  no  unusual 
sights  or  sounds  to  disturb  the  even  tenor  of  their  existence, 
and  who,  in  fact,  know  nothing  of  what  is  transpiring  "  behind 
the  scenes  "  in  the  great  theatre  of  metropolitan  life.  And  it 
is  this  fact,  possibly,  which  ensures  the  prolongation  in  our 
midst  of  those  numerous  evils  of  which  society  so  justly  com- 
plains ;  for  he  who  has  always  sturdily  refused  to  become 
familiarised  with  the  "inner  heart  of  things,"  as  they  exist 
around  him,  cannot  comprehend  the  full  extent  and  conse- 
quence of  the  said  evils,  and  shakes  his  head  dubiously  when 


THE    DRAMATIC    ASSOCIATION. 


told  of  them  —  believing  the  pictures  thus  placed  beneath  his 
notice  to  be  too  highly  colored,  and  refusing  in  his  selfish 
apathy  to  assist  in  the  forwarding  of  any  measures  which  may 
be  conceived  for  their  expurgation. 

Now  there  exist,  in  the  most  densely  populated  portions  of 
the  city,  at  this  present  writing,  a  number  of  establishments 
of  peculiar  character,  known  by  the  appropriate  name  of 
Dramatic  Associations,  the  members  of  which  are  to  be  found, 
principally,  among  the  better-paid  class  of  clerks,  and  incip- 
ient lawyers,  whose  principal  design  is  to  improve  their 
oratorical  powers  and  steel  their  nerves  to  the  faces  of  an 
audience,  while  that  of  the  former  is  usually  a  "frolic." 
Sometimes,  however,  there  starts  up  among  them  an  ambitious 
tyro,  who  enjoys  the  acquaintance  of  several  third-rate  actors 
at  one  of  the  minor  theatrical  establishments,  and  who  becomes 
suddenly  impregnated  with  a  dramatic  furor  —  in  consequence 
of  which,  you  behold  him,  at  some  future  period  of  his  career, 
bellowing  and  ranting  in  some  insignificant  part,  at  some  one 
of  the  minor  theatres  aforesaid.  Occasionally,  but  not  often,  a 
really  good  performer  is  hammered  out  in  these  dramatic 
smithies,  and  the  young  gentlemen  who  rejoice  in  the  title  of 
members,  are  fond  of  relating  anecdotes  of  how  this  or  that 
tragedian  used  to  "spout"  in  a  certain  obscure  cellar  in 
Philadelphia,  and  how  sundry  other  dramatic  celebrities, 
whose  names  occupy  a  position  in  that  "  niche  of  fame," 
which,  it  strikes  us,  must  be  a  niche  of  wonderful  dimensions, 
to  make  room  for  all  that  are  yearly  added  to  it  —  snce 
ranted  it  in  a  recherche  little  place  which  stood  upon  the 


272  VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     O?    THE    CZTT. 

corner  of  Broadway  and  Grand  Street,  on  the  spot  now  occu- 
pied by  American  Hall. 

The  Dramatic  Association  is  very  particular  in  the  choice 
of  its  members  ;  it  is  governed  by  a  constitution  and  by-laws, 
and  has  a  "  president"  to  watch  over  its  interests.  When  any 
person  desires  to  join,  his  name  is  proposed  at  one  of  the 
regular  private  meetings  of  the  society,  and  an  election  takes 
place — all  the  members  present  voting,  for  or  against.  If 
elected,  he  pays  an  initiation  fee  of  five  dollars,  or  thereabout, 
and  after  that  a  certain  weekly  sum  as  "  dues ;"  as  long  as  he 
fulfils  which  exactions,  he  is  considered  a  member.  Each 
performance  is  given  under  the  name  of  a  particular  member, 
the  privilege  being  enjoyable  by  all  in  rotation,  and  on  this 
occasion  the  individual  whose  "night"  it  is,  has  the  privilege  of 
selecting  his  pieces,  and  choosing  any  character  suited  to  his 
fancy — the  "stage  manager"  filling  out  the  remainder  of  the 
"  cast."  There  are  a  certain  number  of  tickets  issued,  and  a 
limited  number  of  these  given  to  each  member,  who  distributes 
them  gratis  among  his  particular  friends.  And  most  unmerci- 
ful audiences  they  generally  are ;  for  each  member  has  some 
rival  among  the  "  company,"  whom  he  is  desirous  of  seeing 
"  put  down  ;"  and,  between  his  friends  and  the  friends  of  the 
rival  performer,  such  a  confusion  is  continually  kept  up,  that 
the  words  of  the  play  can  only  be  heard  at  intervals. 

The  evening,  "  big  with  fate  "  in  the  circumstances  of  the 
ambitious  Ferris,  had,  at  last,  come  round,  and  Mr.  Podge  was 
quietly  seated  in  his  lonely  dormitory,  intent  upon  the  peru- 
sal of  "  Cecilia  Mordaunt ;  or,  the  Adventures  of  a  Lady  of 


THE    DRAMATIC    ASSOCIATION.  273 

Quality"  the  last  fashionable  novel,  kindly  loaned  him  by  the 
accomplished  Mrs.  Thingummy,  of  What-d'ye-call  Square, 
•when  his  door  flew  suddenly  open,  and  a  voice  like  the  com- 
mingled crash  of  all  the  kettle-drums  in  the  incantation  scene 
of  "  Der  Freischutz,"  was  heard  to  sing,  or  rather  to  yell  : 

"I  am  the  bold  thunder  1" 

which  so  startled  Mr.  Podge,  who  was  at  that  moment  tra- 
versing a  mysterious  passage  in  a  ruined  abbey,  in  company 
with  his  heroine,  that  he  let  fall  the  book  ;  and,  snatching  up 
from  the  fire  a  toasting-fork,  on  which  a  piece  of  bread  was 
burning,  stood  resolutely  upon  the  defensive.  Upon  which, 
Ferris,  supposing  that  Podge  was  making  a  scene  of  it,  in 
allusion  to  the  approaching  performance,  dashed  wildly  at 
him  with  the  green  umbrella,  and  commenced  poking  him  to 
such  an  extent,  that  Podge  was  seriously  put  to  it  to  .preserve 
his  limbs  from  contusions. 

"  Caitiff ! — unheard-of  monster  !  villain  !  fiend  !"  shouted 
the  excited  Ferris,  continuing  the  broad-sword  exercise,  as  ho 
had  seen  it  done  upon  the  stage. 

"  W-w-what  the  devil  do  you  mean,  sir  2"  at  last  gasped 
Podge,  dropping  into  a  chair,  in  a  state  of  perfect  exhaustion, 
and  having,  by  this  time,  made  up  his  mind  that  Ferris  was 
a  maniac,  freshly  escaped  from  Blackwell's  Island. 

"  What  do  I  mean  ?"  retorted  Ferris,  jocularly ;  "  I  sup- 
pose, now%  you'll  pretend  you  don't  know  me — it  wouldn't 
surprise  me  a  bit !" 

12* 


274  VIOLET,    THE    CHILD    OF   THE    CITY. 

"  I  must  confess,"  said  Podge,  "  that  at  this  moment  I  have 
no  distinct  recollection " 

"  Stuff  and  nonsense,  my  boy ! — won't  do,  so  you  needn't 
try  it  on  !"  continued  Mr.  Ferris,  knowingly. 

"  Try  what  on  1"  inquired  Podge,  much  mystified. 

"  Pretend  not  to  know  me  .?'*  continued  Ferris,  whose  vanity 
was  a  little  nettled  at  the  idea ;  "  Me  !  whoso  eloquence  held 
the  whole  multitude  spell-bound  for  two  mortal  hours,  on  a 
recent  occasion,  and  whose  oration  was  pronounced  by  a  lead- 
ing journal  to  be  one  of  the  most  startling  efforts  of  genius 
ever  concocted  for  the  public  ear  ?" — and  Ferris  favored 
Mr.  Podge  with  a  look  of  withering  scorn,  under  which  that 
little  individual  shrank  into  next  door  to  nothing. 

"  Oh  !  yes  ! — excuse  my  forgetfulness — I  remember,"  stam- 
mered Mr.  Podge ;  "  you  are  the  gentleman  who  addressed 
the  Anti-any-kind-of-crime  Society.  To  be  sure  ;  how  could 
I  be  so  stupid  !"  and  Mr.  Podge  tapped  himself  upon  the  fore- 
head, in  illustration  of  the  last  remark. 

"  The  same,"  rejoined  Ferris,  bowing.  "  So,  now  we're  all 
right  again,  Podge,  and  I  suppose  you'd  have  no  objection  to 
lend  me " 

"I  really — at  this  moment — happen  to  be  extremely 
short,"  snuffled  Podge. 

'  "  Your  attention,"  continued  Ferris,  without  heeding  the 
interruption ;  whereat  Mr.  Podge  became  so  red  in  the  face, 
that  his  head  resembled  a  full-blown  dahlia. 

• 

"  I  am  all  ears,"  he  replied,  in  some  confusion. 


THE    DUAMATIC    ASSOCIATION.  275 

"That's  very  evident!"  said  Ferris,  in  an  aside.  "But, 
let's  cut  preliminaries.  You  remember  that,  in  the  course  of 
our  last  meeting,  I  dropped  some  allusions  of  a  theatrical 
nature " 

"  Distinctly,"  replied  Podge. 

- 

';  This  is  the  night "  continued  Ferris. 

"  This  ?"  Podge  looked  incredulous. 

"  '  That  either  makes  me,  or  undoes  me  quite,' "  added 
Ferris,  quoting. 

"  My  dear,  sir  !"  exclaimed  Podge,  with  much  concern  in 
his  countenance,  "  I  really  hope  that  you'll  get  safely 
through  it." 

"  Never  fear,  my  boy  !  I've  gotten  through  more  trying 
scenes  than  that,"  replied  Ferris,  coolly. 

"  Failed  often  ?"  inquired  Podge,  earnestly. 

"  failed,  sir !"  rejoined  Ferris ;  "  I  never  failed  in  my  life, 
sir ;'  although,  on  many  occasions,  I  flatter  myself  that  I've 
brought  down  the  house  /" 

"  What  a  villain  !"  thought  Podge  ;  "ruined  his  friends  to 
save  himself." 

"  Stay,"  said  Ferris,  thinking  deeply ;  "  I  believe  that  I  did 
commit  a  murder,  once." 

Podge  started  from  his  companion  as  if  he  had  been  an 
adder. 

"  Yes — owing  to  untoward  circumstances,  which  I  could 
not  prevent,  I  undertook  the  part  of  Edgar,  and  was  '  damn- 
ed' fort! 

"  '  Poor  Tom's  a-cold  !' 


2Y6  VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     OF     THE     CITY. 

and  he  was  cold  enough  before  I  had  done  with  him,  I  can 
tell  you !" 

"  Monster  !"  exclaimed  Podge,  in  a  hoarse  whisper.  "  Offer 
to  take  the  part  of  a  friend,  and  slay  him  afterwards !" 

"Alas,  sir!"  answered  Ferris,  with  a  jnelancholy  look, 
"  Edgar  was  no  friend  of  mine  ;  the  part,  sir,  proved  my  worst 
enemy.  In  fact,  I  have  not  fully  recovered  from  the  effects 
of  it  yet." 

"  Oh !  you  are  speaking  theatrically  !"  said  Podge,  brighten- 
ing up,  all  at  once. 

"  Of  course ;  how  else  ?  but  sink  the  twaddle,  my  boy,  for 
it's  getting  late,  and  I'm  extremely  desirous  that  you  should 
see  my  performance — with  which,  I  promise  you,  you  will  not 
fail  to  be  pleased.  Got  your  tickets,  of  course  ?" 

"  Somewhere,  I  believe,"  replied  Podge,  who  now  began  to 
remember  all  that  had  occurred  on  the  night  when  Flint  and 
he  had  clubbed  their  "  resources."  And,  after  much  fumbling 
and  fussing,  he  found  the  missing  articles  at  the  bottom  of  the 
tea-pot,  where  he  had  placed  them  for  safe  keeping. 

At  this  crisis,  Mr.  Flint  himself  made  his  appearance  with 
the  fiddle,  playing  "  Hail  Columbia,"  which,  however,  he 
changed  to  the  "Merry  Swiss  Boy,"  at  an  expostulatory 
motion  from  Podge,  who  was  getting  ready  to  accompany 
Ferris. 

"Going,  going!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Flint,  in  the  language  of 
his  vocation.  "  To  let — an  orchestra,  consisting  of  one  fiddle 
and  a  pair  of  lungs,  capable  of  discoursing  any  kind  music, 
from  the  overture  of  '  Ernani,'  down  to  the  crunching  of  a 


THE     DRAMATIC     ASSOCIATION.  277 

turkey-bone,  or  the  opening  of  an  oyster.  How  much  shall  I 
Lave  ?" 

"  My  friend  Joe  says  nothing  but  what  is  strictly  correct," 
said  Ferris,  with  an  admiring  glance  at  Flint ;  "  on  common 
occasions  our  association  dispenses  with  the  vulgar  attraction 
of  a  band,  but,  as  I  have  an  eye  to  popularity,  and  know  the 
value  of  these  seemingly  insignificant  things,  I  have  persuaded 
my  inestimable  friend  here  to  personate  an  orchestra — for 
this  night  only !" 

"  Only  too  happy  to  be  of  service,"  replied  Flint. 

And  Podge  having  completed  his  arduous  toilet,  the  three 
took  their  course  along  Broadway,  in  the  direction  of  Gothic 
Hall — in  an  upper  story  of  which  edifice  the  aforesaid  society 
held  its  meetings,  and  regaled  its  audiences. 

Following  in  the  wake  of  the  variously  dressed  crowd  who 
were  thronging  into  the  place,  Podge,  deserted  by  his  com- 
panions, ascended  an  incalculable  number  of  steps,  and  shortly 
found  himself  in  a  lofty  and  commodious  apartment,  which  had 
been  fitted  up  in  an  exceedingly  pretty  style,  with  boxes  and 
parquette,  and  a  raised  stage,  the  chief  fault  of  which  appeared 
to  be  its  want  of  size.  He  was  not  allowed  much  time  for 
reflection,  however;  for,  in  the  midst  of  the  wheezing,  and 
shuffling,  and  whispering,  which  prevailed,  the  tones  of  Mr. 
Flint's  darling  fiddle  rose  upon  the  confined  atmosphere  of  the 
place. 

" Silence"— "down  in  front"— "hats  off"— and  "physic!" 
— a  variety  of  cries  proceeding  from  a  number  of  respectably- 


278  VIOLET,    THE    CHILD    OF   THE  CITi". 

attired  young  men,  with  Byronic  collars,  dispersed  through- 
out the  "  house." 

Mr.  Flint  was  in  excellent  spirits,  and  first  favored  his 
hearers  with  "  Hail  Columbia" — which  he  interspersed  with  so 
many  "curious  shakes,"  that  no  one  could  positively  identify 
it.  He  next  gave  them  a  touch  of  the  "  Merry  Swiss  Boy." 
The  audience  beginning  to  manifest  some  signs  of  impatience, 
Flint  commenced  to  inflict  the  "  Dead-March"  upon  them,  but 
luckily  the  curtain  went  up  with  a  jerk,  before  he  had 
got  started,  discovering  a  questionable-looking4  personage, 
walking  about  within  a  small  compass  of  two  feet  by  six,  in  a 
brown  frock,  pink  drawers,  and  paper  helmet  (according  to 
the  style  in  which  the  ancients  are  somehow  supposed  to  have 
attired  themselves  on  the  eve  of  battle — pink  legs  and  all !) 
and  having  in  his  hand  a  spear,  made  of  leather  and  stuffed 
with  bran.  The  various  characters  next  came  on  in  their 
proper  order,  and  walked  curiously  about,  talking  in  panto- 
mime, and  looking  at  everything  except  the  audience,  of 
whom  they  seemed  to  "  fight  remarkably  shy,"  as  Flint,  who 
had  rejoined  Mr.  Podge,  took  occasion  to  observe. 

Throughout  the  earlier  portions,  however,  the  auditory  con- 
ducted themselves  remarkably  well,  and  were  very  lenient 
towards  the  actors'  failings ;  but,  when  the  palace  scene  had 
been  run  on,  Mr.  Podge  could  see  numerous  individuals  around 
him  rolling  up  their  shirt-cuffs,  and  getting  in  readiness  for  a 
demonstration,  while  others  were  licking  their  lips,  and 
exchanging  winks  with  one  another,  which  meant  (explained 


THE     DRAMATIC    ASSOCIATION.  2*79 

Mr.  Flint)  that  these  latter  were  about  to  give  the  Hamlet  of 
the  evening  "  a  blast,"  to  show  that  they  considered  him  "  no 
great  shakes."  The  king,  queen,  and  attendants  made  their 
entrances  in  the  midst  of  the  profoundest  silence,  and  Podge 
was  beginning  to  feel  interested  for  the  fate  of  Ferris,  when 
that  gentleman,  in  the  usual  black  cloak,  small  clothes,  etc., 
stalked  on  with  three  distinct  jerks;  and,  with  three  more, 
brought  himself  to  the  foot-lights — being  saluted,  as  he 
advanced,  by  a  perfect  Pandemonium  of  applauses,  hootings, 
cat-calls,  and  shrill  whistlings.  Flint  labored  to  stem  the 
torrent  in  behalf  of  his  friend,  until  he  looked  as  if  he  was  on 
the  point  of  rupturing  a  blood-vessel ;  and,  finding  his  boots 
insufficient  for  his  purpose,  he  suddenly  pounced  like  a  vulture 
upon  Podge,  and,  seizing  him  by  the  neck,  brought  that 
unfortunate  person's  head  several  times  in  violent  contact  with 
the  wall,  against  which  they  were  leaning,  occasioning  a 
number  of  prominent  bumps  not  to  be  found  in  the  catalogue 
of  any  phrenologist. 

"I  beg  your  pardon — I  was  excited,"  said  Flint,  on  re- 
ceiving from  Podge  an  assurance  that  such  treatment  was 
anything  but  agreeable ;  and  the  next  moment  their  attention 
was  attracted  to  the  stage,  where  Ferris  was  gesticulating 
and  vociferating  with  extraordinary  vehemence.  Mr.  Podge 
endured  the  five  long  acts,  interspersed  with  music,  with  all 
the  fortitude  of  a  martyr  at  the  stake ;  and,  though  he  had 
not  been  able  to  hear  a  word  of  the  performance,  yet,  at  the 
termination,  he  expressed  himself  highly  satisfied  with 
his  evening's  amusement — professing  to  be  especially  delighted 


280  VIOLET,   THE     CHILD     OP    THE    CITT. 

•with  the  closing  scene.  Ferris  was  so  greatly  tickled  by  these 
eulogiums,  that  his  heart  spontaneously  opened,  and  the 
friends  were  invited  by  him  to  a  neighboring  "  Shades,"  where 
they  found  a  number  of  the  amateurs  already  congregated, 
and  where  they  finished  the  night. 


THE    WRECK.  281 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

THE    WRECK. 

THE  sea  !  restless,  ever  moving,  infinite — what  myriads  of 
secrets  its  fathomless  depths  enshrine!  What  inestimable 
riches  lie  heaped  together  beneath  its  ever-swaying  tide ! 
Sometimes  a  billow,  more  vigorous  than  the  rest,  casts  up  a 
gem — a  token  of  the  life  that  proved  too  frail  to  meet  its  power; 
but  few  who  seek  its  cold  embrace  give  back  a  clue  to 
whisper  of  their  fate.  Yet  thousands,  undismayed  by  the  lot 
of  those  who  have  gone  before  them,  to  meet  a  silent  death 
beneath  the  surging  wave,  tempt  daily  its  treacherous 
advances ;  and  the  legends  of  the  mishaps,  which  seamen 
tell,  serve  only  to  enliven  them,  as  they  gayly  float  upon  its 
seemingly  tranquil  bosom. 

It  was  a  day  within  the  tropics ;  and  never  shone  the  sun 
more  brightly  to  the  eyes  of  those  who  met  its  glances.  Like 
a  vast  green  carpet,  the  sea  lay  outstretched  before  the  path 
of  the  gallant  merchantman,  the  "  Morton's  Hope ;"  and  from 
her  deck  a  husband  and  wife,  with  their  innocent  little  one, 
gazed  admiringly  upon  the  scene  outstretched  before  them. 
The  husband,  a  man  of  wealth  and  standing,  was  the  owner 
of  the  vessel,  and  of  many  such,  and,  as  he  gazed  upon  the 
tapering  spars,  the  spreading  sails,  and  the  intricate  and  per- 


282  VIOLET,    THE    CHILD     OF    THE    CITY. 

plexing  variety  of  cordage,  which  aided  to  sustain  the  good 
ship  on  her  course,  he  inwardly  thanked  heaven,  that  had 
been  thus  far  so  bounteous  of  its  favors.  But  not  a  thought 
of  anything  beside.  The  world  alone  seemed  to  claim  and 
receive  his  attention. 

The  present  cruise  of  the  "  Morton's  Hope "  had  been 
an  unusually  successful  one,  and  she  was  returning  to  the 
port  from  which  she  had  started,  loaded  with  a  freight  which 
promised  abundance  of  profit  to  her  fortunate  owners.  A 
number  of  passengers  accompanied  her  on  her  homeward 
trip,  all  of  whom  were  eagerly  looking  forward  to  the  enjoy- 
ments in  store  for  them.  Among  these  passengers  was  one 
whose  frank,  manly  conduct  and  sanguine  disposition  had 
rendered  him  a  favorite  alike  in  the  cabin  and  the  forecastle. 
This  was  a  promising  lad  of  eighteen,  who,  having  laid  up  in 
some  South  American  port  sufficient  from  his  salary  as  a 
factor's  clerk,  to  enable  him  to  undertake  a  visit  to  his  native 
land,  was  now  hastening  to  rejoin  the  loved  ones  for  whose 
relief  he  had  destined  his  little  treasure.  The  vessel  was,  in 
fact,  within  a  few  days'  sail  of  her  destination,  and  already 
the  spires  and  domes  of  his  familiar  city  loomed  up,  bright 
with  all  the  tints  bestowed  upon  them  by  the  glowing  imagi- 
nation of  the  young,  in  his  thoughts. 

They  were  nearing  a  lovely  island,  whose  dark  green 
foliage  seemed  to  offer  an  inviting  retreat  from  the  cares  of 
the  outward  world,  and  the  young  man  we  have  noticed  was 
leaning  idly  over  the  taffrail,  gazing  with  delight  upon  the 
scene,  framing  in  his  mind  a  host  of  romantic  visions,  when 


THE    -WRECK.  283 

his  reverie  was  dispelled  by  the  voice  of  the  captain,  who 
having  withdrawn  for  a  few  moments  to  his  cabin,  now 
appears  suddenly  on  deck,  wearing  over  his  clothes  the 
inevitable  suit  of  tarpaulin  which  skippers  are  wont  to  don 
when  a  storm  is  at  hand. 

"  All  hands  aloft  to  take  in  sail !  Passengers  had  better  get 
below,"  he  added,  in  a  lower  key.  "  We  shall  have  a  storm 
upon  us  directly." 

"  How  do  you  manage  to  guess  that  ?"  asked  the  youth  of 
the  captain.  "  I  see  no  clouds  in  the  sky." 

"  Never  mind  how  I  know  it,"  was  the  reply.  "  A  storm's 
coming  on,  and  in  five  minutes  we  shall  be  in  the  thick  of  it. 
It's  safer  below,  youngster." 

"  Then  I'll  stay  above,  if  you've  no  objection,"  said  the  lad ; 
and  before  the  captain  could  find  words  to  express  his  admi- 
ration, the  other  was  among  the  sailors,  climbing,  sliding  and 
jumping  from  one  spot  to  another  among  the  rigging,  as 
actively  as  the  best  of  them. 

A  few  seconds  since,  and  a  scarce  cloud  fleeced  the  light  east- 
ern sky ;  yet,  strange  to  say,  by  some  mysterious  means  un- 
known to  landsmen,  the  mariner  sees  that  a  storm  is  impending. 
Scarcely  are  the  necessary  preparations  made,  when  the  wind 
comes  whistling  through  the  shrouds,  with  the  fury  of  a 
demon ;  the  noble  vessel,  strained  to  her  utmost,  groans  and 
reels  beneath  the  strength  of  the  blast;  wave  follows  wave 
across  her  lately  spotless  decks ;  and  the  sea,  black  as  mid- 
night, is  crested  with  foaming  white.  A  black  veil  is  drawn 
across  the  heavens — seamews  wheel  and  flit  about  the  vessel, 


284  VIOLKT,    THE     CHILD     OF    THE   CITY. 

screaming  in  dreadful  unison  with  the  gale.  Occasionally,  a 
square  patch  appears  to  open  in  the  overhanging  mass  of 
clouds,  and  belches  forth  a  stream  of  living  fire. 

Away — away  before  the  blast !  The  thunder  rolls — the 
sea-bird  screams — but  heed  them  not !  The  lovely  island, 
with  its  dark  green  foliage,  is  a  snare — away,  into  the  broad 
and  fathomless  sea ;  put  miles  between  you  and  the  treacher- 
ous land. 

Alas!  Of  small  avail  your  efforts  now.  Yield,  hardy 
mariner  !  Despair,  ye  loving  couple  !  the  fated  vessel,  for  the 
first  time  in  your  lives,  defies  the  helm.  A  bolt  has  marked 
her  for  destruction — unmanageable,  she  drifts  upon  those 
treacherous  rocks — there  is  a  fearful  crash — a  cry  of  wild 
despair — and,  save  the  howling  of  the  tempest,  all  is 
silence ! 

An  hour  has  passed  away  ;  again  the  sun  shines  forth ;  the 
lone  island  becomes  once  more  visible,  with  its  inviting  foliage, 
but  no  ship  is  there,  as  before.  A  few  fragments  are  floating 
about  the  fatal  spot,  and  a  small  board,  with  a  single  inscrip- 
tion, tells,  plainer  than  words,  the  fate  of  the  "  Morton's 
Hope !" 


HERBERT'S   NEW   FRIEND.  285 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

HERBERT'S    NEW    FRIEND. 

AND  now  behold  Mr.  Humphreys,  so  many  years  an  useful 
member  of  that  society  whose  victim  he  was,  cast  into  a 
dreary  dungeon,  in  size  not  .larger  than  the  cages  in  which 
they  confine  wild  beasts  in  modern  menageries,  without  a 
single  available  friend  in  the  world,  to  whom  to  look  for 
assistance,  and  deprived  of  the  company  of  the  only  being 
whose  presence  had  been  the  sole  ray  of  light  which  shone 
upon  his  declining  years. 

Here,  in  the  society  of  the  worst  class  of  criminals  (as 
though  he  had  been  already  proved  guilty,  instead  of  being 
only  accused  of  a  crime),  the  heart  of  the  good  old  gentle- 
man began,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  to  fail  him. 

"  This  day's  doings  has  been  too  much  for  my  sensitive 
nerves,"  remarked  Mr.  Flint,  in  a  lachrymose  tone,  as,  in  com- 
pany with  Herbert,  he  turned  away  from  the  prison  on  the 
day  in  question.  "  After  this,  who'll  say  there's  no  good  in 
human  nature  ?  But,  I  was  just  so  when  I  was  young." 

Flint's  recollections  of  his  own  juvenile  days  must  have 
been  fraught  with  a  variety  of  emotions,  if  the  truth  were 
confessed.  He  had  an  indistinct  remembrance  of  his  mother, 
who  had  been  a  washerwoman,  and  mangled  for  her  neigh- 


286  VIOLET,    THE    CHILD    OF    THE    CITT. 

bors  generally,  at  a  regular  scale  of  prices,  payable  "  on  the 
nail."  He  could  also  recall  the  fact,  that  he  had  once  been 
sent  to  a  public  school,  from  which  he  had  played  "  hookey" 
so  often,  that  his  teachers  at  last  sent  him  away  as  a  hope- 
less case ;  and  the  stealing  of  apples  from  grocers'  doors,  and 
similar  youthful  exploits,  tickled  his  fancy  exceedingly,  as  it 
dwelt  upon  those  reminiscences  of  the  by-past  time.  From 
meditations  such  as  these,  the  tones  of  Herbert's  voice  awaken- 
ed him. 

"  There's  some  rascality  about  all  this,"  Herbert  said,  half 
musingly ;  "  and  I'll  spend  a  thousand  dollars  but  I'll  fathom 
it.  If  I  do  unravel  the  mystery,  woe  be  to  the  culprit !" 

Flint  brightened  up  in  a  moment.  But  he  did  not 
acquaint  Herbert  with  the  course  his  thoughts  were  taking. 
His  plan  was  caution. 

"  You  seem  to  think  a  good  deal  of  the  old  fellow,"  said 
Flint,  after  a  moment's  attentive  observation  of  his  companion. 

"  Next  to  one  other,"  replied  Herbert,  despondingly,  "  I 
love  him  better  than  my  life." 

"  That's  enough  ;  thank  you " 

"  For  what  ?"  asked  Herbert,  seeing  the  man  about  to  move 
off  rather  abruptly. 

"O,  nothing  in  particular,"  rejoined  Flint.  "By  the  way, 
what's  your  name  and  number — if  it's  a  fair  question  ?" 

Herbert,  still  wondering  at  his  manner,  and  half  doubtful 
if  his  companion  was  sane,  gave  him  the  desired  information. 

"  That's  ample,"  said  Flint,  mysteriously,  as  he  noted  down 
the  address.  "  Not  much,  to  be  sure,  for  an  outsider  in  cases 


HERBERT'S   NETT  FRIEND.  287 

like  the  present,  but  I've  accomplished  wonders  with  a  great 
deal  less  than  that  to  go  upon.  What  would  you  give,  now, 
if  as  humble  a  character  as  Timothy  Flint  should  not  only 
restore  the  young  woman  and  release  the  old  gent,  but  recover 
for  them  both  a  large  property — after  the  manner  in  which 
they  do  those  things  on  the  stage?" 

"  I  wish  you  would  choose  some  other  subject  for  jesting," 
replied  Herbert,  flushing  with  resentment,  and  beginning  to 
think  of  shaking  off  his  pertinacious  new  friend — especially  as 
he  saw  that  more  than  one  passer-by  stopped  to  look  after 
them  in  the  course  of  their  stroll. 

"  I  was  never  more  serious  in  my  life,"  replied  Flint,  quite 
in  earnest.  "But  that's  neither  here  nor  there.  I've  got 
your  address,  my  young  gentleman,  and  that's  sufficient  for 
my  purposes.  I  can  only  tell  you,  by  way  of  a  parting  salute, 
that  the  happiness  of  three  individuals,  who  shall  be  nameless 
for  the  present,  lies  at  my  mercy.  And  so,  good-bye,  Masters 
Humphreys,  until  'next  time.'" 

"  You're  getting  too  many  irons  in  the  fire,"  thought  Flint, 
as  he  hurried  off  in  the  direction  of  the  old  hovel  in  the  sub- 
urbs, where  "Mother  Peg,"  as  he  called  her,  was  still  presiding 
over  the  "  comforts  "  of  as  reckless  a  crew  as  ever  furnished  a 
subject  for  pen  or  pencil.  "Too  many  irons,  entirely,  Master" 
Flint.  We  must  see  if  we  can't  by  this  time  take  one  of  them 
out." 

In  the  meanwhile,  Herbert  was  exceedingly  puzzled  to 
know  what  to  make  of  Flint.  That  he  was  either  crazed,  or 
that  he  knew  far  more  of  the  recent  mysterious  transactions 


288  VIOLET,   THE     CHILD     OB"     THE    CITY. 

than  he  cared  to  acknowledge,  Herbert  felt  certain,  and 
comparatively  unskilled  as  he  was  in  legal  matters,  he  felt 
confident  that  he  should  be  able  to  find  a  way  to  his  late 
companion's  confidence. 

The  efforts  made  by  Herbert,  since  the  expulsion  from  the 
Cottage,  to  obtain  a  clue  to  the  mystery  of  Violet's  abduction 
and  the  affair  of  his  protector's  arrest  (for  he  felt  convinced 
that  they  were  in  some  manner  connected),  were  almost 
superhuman.  In  spite  of  the  apparent  absurdity  of  the 
thought,  he  could  not  avoid  connecting  Crawley  with  the 
circumstance,  and  the  more  he  reflected,  the  more  sincere 
became  his  conviction  that  he  had  at  last  traced  the  intrigue 
to  its  source.  He  remained  quiet,  however,  until  he  could 
get  together  sufficient  evidence  to  proceed  upon ;  while 
Crawley,  becoming  somehow  informed  of  what  was  passing, 
or  naturally  fearing  that  he  might  be  implicated,  kept  suc- 
cessfully out  of  the  way.  Flint  was  no  less  wise  than  his 
employer,  and,  shortly  after  the  above  occurrence,  the  keeper 
of  the  lodging-house  where  he  and  Podge,  though  revolving 
in  such  widely  different  spheres,  had  found,  literally,  their  bed 
and  board,  had  occasion  to  complain  of  another  absconding 
tenant — a  circumstance  which  really  occasioned  Mr.  Podge 
some  regret,  for  his  fashionable  friends  were  beginning  to 
desert  him,  and  Flint  had  acted  his  careless  part  so  well,  that 
the  little  dandy  had  actually  conceived  a  liking  for  him,  and 
even  for  the  fiddle. 

It  was  about  "  ten  of  the  clock,"  on  one  of  those  dark  and 
stormy  nights   so   absolutely   indispensable   to  the  modern 


HERBERT'S  NEW    FRIEND.  289 

romance,  that  Master  Herbert  Humphreys  sat  alone  before  a 
small  wood  fire  in  his  gloomy  office  in  Wall  street,  which 
had  now  become  to  him  kitchen,  bed-room,  and  place  of 
business.  The  young  lawyer  was  absorbed  in  a  deep  fit  of 
musing — so  deeply  that  he  had  not  observed  the  intrusion  of 
a  stranger,  who,  while  Herbert  was  thus  preoccupied,  had 
entered  the  little  apartment,  taken  a  hurried  mental  inven- 
tory of  its  contents,  and  was  engaged  in  watching  the  expres- 
sion of  Herbert's  countenance — when  the  latter  looked  up, 
and  to  his  astonishment  encountered  the  fixed  gaze  of  Flint. 

"You,  here!"  said  Herbert — "I  was  just  this  moment 
thinking  of  you." 

"I  know  it,"  returned  his  visitor.  "I  know  everything 
that's  going  on  in  your  mind  as  well  as  you  do  yourself." 

"  You  need  not  go  far  to  make  your  foi  tune  if  that's  the 
case,"  said  Herbert,  smiling. 

"You  may  well  say  it,"  replied  Flint;  "I'm  a  medium. 
But  somehow  or  other,  I'm  afraid  I'm  not  the  right  Jdiid  of 
medium  :  at  least,  I'm  sure  that  I'm  not  one  of  the  money- 
making  sort.  Haven't  even  got  enough  to  buy  a  loadstone, 
and  set  up  shop  for  myself." 

"  That's  unfortunate,"  said  Herbert. 

"  Rather.  But  there's  one  consolation  :  I'm  used  to  misfor- 
tune. I've  got  used  to  it  just  as  eels  get  used  to  being 
skinned.  Rich  people  say,  that  we  poor  folks  don't  mind  our 
poverty  because  we're  used  to  it,  and  I  suppose  that's  tho 
sense  in  which  they  mean  it."  , 

"  You're  a  droll  fellow !" 

13 


290  VIOLET,   THE     CHILD     OF    THE     CITT. 

"  I  don't  know  what  should  make  me  so,  unless  it's  the 
lucky  issue  of  all  my  attempts  at  getting  ahead  in  the  world. 
I  hope  what  the  clergyman  says  about  the  first  being  last  and 
all  that,  is  true,  or  it  will  be  rather  hard  for  some  of  us.  But 
it  wasn't  to  show  off  my  drollery  that  I  came  here  to-night. 
Do  you  think  that  you  would  venture  to  place  yourself  under 
my  guidance  if  there  was  an  object  to  be  accomplished  ?" 

"It  depends  upon  what  that  object  might  be,"  rejoined 
Herbert,  who  began  to  be  strangely  agitated. 

"Well,  then — not  to  lose  time — it  will  be  necessary  for 
you  to  undertake  with  me,  this  very  night,  a  long  and 
unpleasant  journey,  but  when  you  know  that  this  journey 
will  result  in  restoring  the  young  lady  and  her  father  to  all 
they  have  lost,  and,  in  particular,  in  clearing  the  old  gentle- 
man from  the  suspicions  that  attach  to  him,  I  know  you  will 
not  consider  the  task  a  hardship." 

"  Our  acquaintance  has  been  of  so  slight  a  character,"  said 
Herbert,  "  that  such  a  proceeding  would  seem  to  savor  of 
rashness.  But  I  have  my  reasons  for  believing  you  honest — 
at  any  rate,  in  this.  I  will  go  with  you  where  you  please — 
only  stopping  to  assure  you  that  if  foul  play  should  be 
attempted,  I  have  the  means  of  protecting  myself,  and  will 
fearlessly  use  them." 

"Spoken  like  a  lad  of  mettle!"  exclaimed  Flint,  with 
animation,  "Lord!  what  a  difference  between  him  and 
Crawley !" 

"  Crawley  !"  said  Herbert,  getting  ready,  "  what  do  you 
know  of  him  ?" 


HERBERT'S  NEW  FRIEXD.  291 

"  Nothing  to  his  good,  young  man.  But  don't  ask  me  any 
questions  to-night.  I  shall  have  enough  to  do  without  that." 

"  Have  with  you  then,"  said  Herbert,  resolutely.  "  Whe- 
ther you  are  sincere  or  not  I  have  no  means  of  knowing,  but 
fate,  at  all  events,  cannot  have  worse  tricks  in  store  than 
those  she  has  lately  played  me." 

Flint  and  his  companion  now  hurried  out  into  the  street. 
A  wagon  was  standing  before  the  door,  into  which  Flint 
beckoned  Herbert  to  get.  In  a  few  moments,  they  had 
crossed  Wall  street  ferry,  and  were  whirling  through  the 
sand  and  mud  of  Bedford  Plains  at  a  rate  which  promised  to 
bring  them  speedily  to  the  end  of  their  journey. 


292  VIOLET,   THE     CHILD     OF    THE    CITf. 


CHAPTER   XXXV. 

THE    NIGHT-RIDE    ON    LONG    ISLAND. 

FLINT  seemed  afraid  of  the  darkness,  and  when  they  had 
left  the  pavements  behind  them,  so  that  they  could  hear  the 
sound  of  each  other's  voices,  he  made  up  for  their  previous 
silence  by  talking  incessantly.  As  usual,  his  conversation 
was  a  running  tirade  upon  society,  with  which  Flint 
appeared  to  be  utterly  disgusted.  All  kinds  and  classes  of 
people  came  under  his  ban.  It  seemed  to  be  his  settled  con- 
viction that  nothing  was  good  under  the  sun,  and,  therefore, 
that  nothing  was  too  good  to  be  preyed  upon.  "  There  may 
be  exceptions  as  far  as  things  are  concerned,"  said  Flint,  "  but 
as  for  saying  that  there's  any  good  in  human  nature — the 
idea's  preposterous !  Look  at  your  modern  reformers — how 
they  spout  and  splutter  away  for  the  benefit  of  their  kind — 
all  out  of  pure  love,  as  they  say,  for  their  fellow-creatures. 
But  when  did  you  ever  see  a  modern  reformer  a-doing  of 
what  he  wants  others  to  do  ?  Go  to  'em,  and  ask  'em  a 
favor,  and  see  how  stiff  and  starch  they  become — how  they 
turn  up  their  noses  at  you,  because  they  happen  to  have  a 
reputation  for  something  which  you  have  not.  Look  at  your 
public  benefactors,  who  make  large  donations  to  charitable 


-  THE    XIGHT-RIDE    ON    LONG    ISLAND.  293 

institutions,  that  they  may  cut  a  great  dash  in  the  eyes  of  the 
world,  yet  who  refuse  to  give  an  obscure  beggar  a  penny, 
because  the  act  would  never  reach  the  ears  of  the  public. 
Look  at  your  doctors — quacks !  Look  at  your  lawyers — knaves ! 
Look  at  your  great  generals — fools  !  Look  at  your  parsons — 
humbugs !  and  look  at  your  merchants — arrogant  upstarts !" 

"  Society  and  you  do  not  seem  to  be  on  particularly  good 
terms,"  said  Herbert,  smiling  at  Flint's  effervescence. 

"  That's  true  enough,"  replied  Flint,  "  and  I'm  afraid  we  never 
shall  be.  The  fact  is,  the  world's  in  a  bad  way,  young  man,  and 
I  dare  say  they'd  keep  your  poor  old  uncle  in  that  devil  of  a 
place  for  the  remainder  of  his  existence — if  they  thought  there 
was  anything  to  be  made  by  it.  Everything,  now-a-days,  is 
regulated  by  money :  people  live  for  money,  marry  for  money, 
go  to  prison  for  money,  and  die  for  money  !  In  this  villainous 
world  everything  and  everybody's  eternally  being  improved, 
and  nothing,  and  nobody,  seems  to  be  at  all  benefited  by  the 
improvement.  In  fact,  my  young  friend,  we  are  all  going  to 
the  devil,  as  fast  as  our  legs  can  carry  us.  Even  clergymen 
don't  do  us  the  good  they  used  to,  but  ride  about  in  their  ele- 
gant carriages,  live  in  fashionable  houses,  regale  themselves 
on  the  most  sumptuous  fare,  and  receive  high  salaries,  while 
they  preach  humility,  charity,  and  all  that  sort  of  rigmarole, 
to  the  parishioners.  Churches  are  getting  to  be  so  stylish, 
that  poor  people  are  afraid  to  go  in  at  the  same  door  with 
silks  and  satins ;  and  folks  as  can't  afford  a  box  in  Grace 
Church  and  St.  Paul's,  have  to  resort  to  the  theaytre,  and  pay 
twenty-five  cents  for  morality — such  morality,  too,  as  you 


294  VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     OP    THE    CITT. 

don't  get' from  the  pulpit,  let  me  tell  you.  Who  that  ever 
saw  'Jack  Sheppard'  performed,  that  wasn't  inspired  with  a 
laudable  ambition  to  be  a  Jack  Sheppard  himself?  It's  a 
villainous  world,  I  repeat  it." 

Herbert — who  saw  that  amid  all  Flint  had  said  there  was 
some  truth,  and  who  had  been  quietly  indulging  in  spec- 
ulations as  to  the  correctness  or  incorrectness  of  Flint's  phi- 
losophy— was  about  to  put  a  question,  when  they  sudden- 
ly stopped  in  front  of  a  small  tavern,  situated  in  a  lonely  part 
of  the  island,  all  among  sandhills  and  little  pools  of  water, 
with  here  and  there  a  stunted  bush  or  two,  and  so  near  to  the 
sea,  that  you  might  plainly  hear  the  surf  beating  upon  the 
beach. 

"  Here  we  get  out,"  said  Flint,  giving  the  reins  to  a  sleepy- 
looking  hostler,  who  had  just  made  his  appearance.  "  The 
remainder  of  the  way  being  anything  but  good  travelling  for 
horses,  we  shall  have  to  walk,  and  if  you've  a  shilling  to 
spare,  we'll  just  step  in  here,  before  we  go  any  further,  and 
take  a  snifter  together,  to  keep  out  the  rain." 

"  A  snifter  ?"  replied  Herbert,  wondering  whether  it  was  a 
species  of  bird,  or  some  strange  animal  that  he  had  never 
heard  of  before. 

"Yes — but  I  cannot  do  justice  to  the  article  by  mere 
words ;  so,  come  along,  my  young  friend,  and  we'll  drink  to 
the  health  of  your  guardian." 

Somewhat  enlightened  by  his  companion's  last  words,  he 
stepped  with  him  into  the  tavern,  and  paid  for  the  drinks  as 
desired — persisting  in  taking  soda,  himself,  notwithstanding 


THE    MGIIT-RIDE    ON    LONG    ISLAND.  295 

Mr.  Flint's  glowing  eulogies  upon  smashers,  juleps,  cocktails, 
and  snifters  in  general. 

"  But,  where  are  those  whom  we  came  all  this  way  to 
see  ?"  asked  Herbert,  his  thoughts  suddenly  recurring  to  the 
business  which  had  thrown  him  into  the  company  of  Flint. 

"You'll  see  them  directly,  my  young  friend,"  responded 
Flint,  lighting  a  stump  ot'  a  cigar  at  the  miniature  gas-works 
kept  for  that  purpose  constantly  burning  upon  the  bar. 
"  Youth  is  naturally  always  in  a  hurry,  always  panting  to 
'  go  ahead,'  "  he  continued,  as  they  once  more  emerged  into 
the  darkness  ;  "  but,  on  this  occasion  it  will  be  better  for  us 
to  take  our  time :  because,  in  the  first  place,  the  house  to 
•which  we  are  going  is  but  a  short  distance  from  this ; 
and,  in  the  second,  we  are  not  expected  until  twelve,  so 
we  have  just  twenty  minutes  to  make  our  promised  haven." 

Herbert  was  compelled  to  rest  satisfied  with  the  prospect 
before  him,  and  they  commenced  their  walk — if  walk  it  could, 
indeed,  be  called.  The  rain,  beating  in  their  faces  all  the 
way,  penetrated  their  thick  woollen  garments,  and  filled  every 
crevice  with  the  sand  with  which  it  seemed  charged.  Sand 
filled  their  shoes  and  stockings,  got  into  their  eyes,  and 
gritted  between  their  teeth  whenever  they  essayed  to  speak. 
The  wind  blew  so  fiercely  that  it  was  with  difficulty  they 
advanced.  Once  or  twice  Herbert  and  Flint  found  them- 
selves precipitated  into  small  hollows  filled  with  water,  or 
wandering  about  at  random  among  the  little  hillocks  uf  sand, 
so  that  the  twenty  minutes  spoken  of  by  Flint  had  become  an 
hour,  and  Herbert  began  to  feel  pretty  well  exhausted. 


296  VIOLET,     THE     CHILD     OF    THE    CITT. 

All  at  once  Flint  stopped. 

"  Here's  a  go  !"  he  said,  in  a  tone  indicative  of  great  per- 
plexity. "  I  could  have  sworn  I  knew  every  inch  of  ground 
hereabouts,  but  we've  lost  our  way  in  spite  of  us." 

"  Lost  our  way  in  such  a  place  as  this !"  said  Herbert, 
beginning  to  feel  a  little  dismayed  at  the  prospect  of  a  night 
among  the  sand-hills.  "  I  sincerely  hope  we  have  not." 

Flint's  reply  was  cut  short  by  the  hoarse  bark  of  a  dog, 
which  suddenly  rushed  up  from  behind  one  of  the  hillocks, 
and  overthrowing  Herbert,  as  if  he  was  of  no  consequence 
whatever,  dashed  upon  Flint,  and  promised  to  make  short 
work  with  him — when  a  voice  was  heard,  calling  upon  the 
dog  to  desist. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  the  new  comer.  "  Your  time 
was  so  long  past  we  were  getting  tired  of  waiting,  and  so 
Jemmy  and  I  came  out,  supposin'  you  had  got  lost,  to  hunt 
you  up.'* 

"I'm  much  obliged  to  Jemmy,"  replied  Flint,  looking  askance 
at  the  dog,  which  he  could  just  manage  to  perceive  by  the 
light  from  his  master's  lantern.  "  Rather  too  affectionate  way 
of  greeting  one  that  he  has,  though." 

Before  Herbert  well  knew  what  had  taken  place,  they 
found  themselves  entering  a  small  but  comfortable  cabin, 
situated  among  the  sand  hills,  and  so  near  to  the  sea  that  a 
stone  might  have  been  tossed  from  it  into  the  billows.  A 
great  fire  burned  cheerily  in  the  ample  fire-place,  and  some 
half-dozen  persons,  attired  as  sailors,  were  seated  about  a  table, 
drinking  and  playing  cards,  with  the  exception  of  one.  It 


THE    NIGHT-RIDE    OX    LONG    ISLAND.  297 

was  the  stripling  who  had  been  so  great  a  favorite  ou  board 
the  "  Morton's  Hope." 

What  occurred  that  night  at  the  fisherman's  hut  did  not 
immediately  transpire.  All  we  can  say  at  this  juncture  is, 
that  Herbert  passed  the  night  at  the  hut,  in  company  with 
the  youth  we  have  mentioned  as  having  been  saved  from  the 
wreck,  that  their  conversation  was  long  and  earnest,  and  that 
when  he  returned  to  town  on  the  following  day  he  was 
accompanied  by  one  far  different  from  Flint — who  had  busi- 
ness to  transact  in  another  direction.  Herbert  hurried  back 
to_his  office,  and  was  engaged  the  greater  part  of  "the  fore- 
noon in  writing  letters.  That  night  he  was  visited  again  by 
Flint,  who  did  not  leave  the  premises  until  three  in  the  morn- 
ing. Had  Mr.  Crawley  known  how  his  emissary  was 
passing  his  time,  he  might  have  thought  he  had  cause  for 
uneasiness. 

Before  the  week  had  gone  by — so  incessant  were  Herbert's 
exertions — the  liberation  of  Mr.  Humphreys  had  been 
effected,  there  being  no  evidence  to  warrant  the  supposition 
of  arson,  and  he  found  himself  again,  by  a  fortunate  turn  in 
affairs,  the  possessor  of  the  dear  old  home  which,  in  the 
excess  of  his  patriotism,  he  had  named  Knickerbocker 
Cottage.  Still,  .however,  there  was  a  cloud  upon  the  old 
man's  brow,  which  was  partially  dispelled  by  the  return  of 
Violet,  accompanied  by  Flint — who  communicated  to  her 
guardian,  as  he  had  to  Herbert,  a  story  of  wrong-doing  which, 
could  Crawley  have  been  found,  would  have  laid  him  by  the 
heels  in  the  nearest  prison. 

13* 


298  VIOLET,    THE    CHILD    OF   THE    CITT. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

THE    DEATH    BLOW. 

A  MELANCHOLY  winter  it  proved  to  Benedick.  Shut  up  in 
his  gloomy  and  neglected  mansion  at  Westchester,  he  refused 
to  sea  any  kind  of  company,  and  seemed  to  lead  an  altogether 
isolated  life.  His  business  was  left  entirely  in  Crawley's 
charge ;  and  that  individual,  knowing  the  exact  state  of 
his  employer's  mind,  did  not  fail  to  reward  himself  propor- 
tiouably  for  his  services.  The  present  and  the  future  were 
alike  blank  to  Benedick;  while  the  PAST,  replete  with  so 
much  of  evil  and  so  little  of  good,  was  continually  present  to 
his  distracted  ruind. 

March  came  at  last,  and  brought  with  it  no  relief  to  his 
overtasked  feelings.  Issuing  from  his  domicil  at  early  morn- 
ing, he  would  sometimes  pass  whole  days  by  himself,  rambling 
moodily  in  the  leafless  woods,  regardless  of  the  piercing  winds 
that  howled  so  drearily  among  the  bare,  dry  branches  over- 
head ;  intent,  alone,  upon  the  One  Idea  with  which  his 
being  was  impregnated. 

Mrs.  Benedick  endured  her  involuntary  seclusion  with  all 
the  fortitude  of  a  martyr,  sometimes  likening  her  retirement 
to  a  prison — a  reflection  which  had  any  other  effect  than  that 
of  reconciling  her  with  her  fate. 


THE   DEATH    BLOW.  299 

It  was  a  cold,  unpleasant  evening,  and  Pryce  Benedick  and 
his  wife  sat,  wrapped  in  their  separate  thoughts,  before  a  com- 
fortable fire  in  the  drawing-room.  The  lady  was  the  first  to 
break  in  upon  this  awful  silence. 

"  It's  very  strange,"  she  said,  "  that,  for  several  months 
past,  we  haven't  had  any  tidings  of  Julia ;  she  was  always  so 
punctual  in  her  epistolary  correspondence — I  am  afraid  some- 
thing disagreeable  has  happened." 

"  I  should  not  be  surprised,"  replied  Mr.  Benedick,  absent- 
ly ;  "  there  was  evidently  an  incompatibility  of  temper 
between  her  and  Southdown,  even  while  they  remained 
beneath  this  roof." 

"  And  no  wonder,"  said  Mrs.  Benedick,  "  with  such  a 
gawky,  prosing  fellow  for  a  husband !  The  moment  she 
found  out  she  couldn't  have  everything  her  own  way,  and  go 
to  what  expense  she  pleased,  and  visit  home  when  she 
pleased,  she  became  discontented  with  her  situation — and 
very  properly.  /  should,  I  know,  if  I  stood  in  her  shoes !" 

"  Psha  !  You  were  always  teaching  the  girl  to  believe  her- 
self better  than  she  really  was,  and,  I  repeat  it,  I  should  not  be 
surprised  in  the  least,  if  Southdown  had  refused  to  live  with 
her !" 

"  He  refuse — HE  ! — refuse  to  live  with  her  ! — my  offshoot !" 
exclaimed  the  indignant  lady ;  "  I'd  like  to  catch  him  at  it ! 
If  he  should'nt  feel  what  woman's  hands  can  do  when  raised 
against  oppression  "  (this  was  from  the  last  book  she  had 
read) — "  that's  all !"  and  the  well-meaning  matron  made  a 
very  significant  movement  with  her  fingers. 

"It's   all   very  fine,   Mrs.  Benedick,"  said  the  anathetio 


300  VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     OF    THE    CITY. 

partner  of  her  woes — "  but  '  truth  crushed  to  earth,  will  rise 
again,'  as  Shakspeare  or  Ben  Jouson  wisely  observed." 

M  Yes — and  so  will  an  outraged  and  insulted  woman,  Mr. 
Benedick  !  Oh  !  if  you  only  knew  the  sex  as  I  know  'em  ! 
but  psha !  how  can  you  enter  into  all  those  tender  emotions 
which  sway  fond  woman's  breast " 

"  Pardon  me,  my  dear !  if  those  you  have  just  exhibited 
were  intended  for  a  specimen,  I'd  rather  remain  in  my  present 
blissful  state  of  ignorance  !" 

O 

"  Faugh  !  you've  no  heart !"  • 

"  Neither  have  you  !" 

And  both  relapsed  into  their  former  moody  silence — which 
they  were  not,  however,  suffered  long  to  enjoy  ;  for,  present- 
ly, Mr.  Benedick's  confidential  serving-man  (his  wally,  as 
Mrs.  Benedick  called  him)  entered  the  room,  and  presented 
him  the  foreign  papers,  and  a  score  of  European  letters,  on  a 
richly-chased  salver. 

"  There  is  possibly  something  among  these  to  relieve  our 
doubts,"  said  Benedick,  proceeding  calmly  to  the  task  of 
breaking  seals  and  reading  envelopes. 

"  Goodness  gracious,  husband  !  how  slow  you  are  !"  exclaim- 
ed the  impatient  mistress  of  the  mansion,  during  this  tedious 
proceeding  ;  "  and  here  am  I,  all  the  while,  dying  of  suspense  !" 

Suddenly,  Mr.  Benedick  started — grew  pale  as  death,  and 
then  crimsoned  to  the  temples — as  his  eyes  dwelt  upon  a 
paragraph  in  the  London  Times. 

"  Heavens !  how  you  frighten  me  !  Is  it  from  our  dear 
Julia !" 

•'  Her !"  shouted  Benedick,  almost  frantic  with  passion ; 


THE    DEATH    BLOW.  301 

"  and  you — you  who  have  been  the  chief  architect  of  this 
infernal  fabric,  read  and  for  ever  mourn  your  darling's  shame  1" 
He  could  say  no  more,  but  handing  her  the  paper,  bade  her 
read'  it  for  her  herself.  And  the  fashionable  mother,  trem- 
bling in  her  turn,  grasped  the  sheet  from  her  husband's 
quivering  hand,  and  read  as  follows  : — 

"  Much  scandal  prevails,  just  now,  in  the  Parisian  circles, 
•with  regard  to  an  interesting  family  affair,  of  which  that 
gay  metropolis  was  recently  the  scene.  A  certain  Lady 
Southdown,  young,  wealthy,  and  pretty,  and  blest  with  a 
-husband  whose  greatest  fault  was  his  exceeding  good  nature, 
lately  took  it  into  her  head  to  elope  with  a  distinguished  roue 
— well-known  for  the  number  of  duels  he  had  fought,  and  the 
number  of  intrigues  in  which  he  had  been  concerned — and 
whom  she  met  at  a  bal  costume,  whither  she  had  gone  in 
direct  violation  of  her  husband's  orders.  The  husband  pro- 
vided himself  with  pistols,  and  pursued  his  rival  to  a  little 
hunting-lodge  in  the  forest  of  Vincennes,  whither  the  guilty 
couple  had  flown,  and  a  duel  was  the  consequence — both 
parties  being  deprived  of  life  at  the  first  fire.  It  is  said  that 
the  disagreement  between  them  originated  in  a  bet,  made 
by  the  abducter,'  that  he  would  kiss  his  rival's  wife  on  a  certain 
occasion — but  which  was  prevented  from  being  fulfilled  by 
the  interference  of  the  jealous  husband.  The  lady  has  dis- 
appeared, and  it  is  supposed  she  has  since  committed  suicide. 
This  is  the  only  intelligence  worthy  of  note  upon  the  tapis."  . 

"  I  don't  believe  a  word  on  it !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Benedick, 


802  VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     Ol'     THE     CITT. 

in  the  first  outburst  of  her  maternal  feelings.  "  It's  all  a  base 
fabrication,  got  up  by  that  Southdown  for  the  purpose  of 
throwing  dust  in  the  eyes  of  the  world.  She  never  could  have 
fell  so  low — a  girl  reared  in  such  a  sphere,  with  all  the  advan- 
tages of  a  fashionable  education,  and  a  fond  mother's  advice, 
to  keep  her  straight !  I  won't  believe  it." 

"  Perhaps  this  letter,  then,  may  help  to  convince  you,"  said 
Benedick,  handing  her  one,  the  superscription  of  which  was 
in  her  daughter's  hand-writing. 

She  broke  the  seal  immediately;  and  the  following  britf, 
hastily-written  lines  met  her  astonished  eyes : 

"  MOTHER  :  For  the  last  time,  a  ruined  and  disgraced 
daughter  entreats  your  attention.  I  will  not  curse  you,  for 
you  are  my  mother!  but  oh  !  had  you  never  instilled  into  my 
once  guileless  heart  those  pernicious  lessons,  which  have  ever 
since  proved  its  bane,  how  much  happier,  more  contented,  had 
been  my  lot !  Ere  this,  the  public  prints  have  made  my  name 
notorious,  and  I  may  spare  you  the  repetition  of  my  tale  of 
shame !  Believe  all  that  you  read  and  hear,  pray  that  the 
consequences  of  my  extravagance  and  vanity,  while  on  earth, 
may  not  militate  against  my  hopes  in  Heaven,  and  expect  to 
hear  no  more  from  your  guilty,  though  repentant 

"  JULIA." 

As  she  finished  the  perusal  of  this  epistle,  the  excited 
mother  raised  her  hands  to  her  head,  as  if  to  repress  a  sudden 
pang,  and  fell  heavily  from  her  chair  in  a  fit  of  apoplexy. 


THE    DEATH    BLOW.  303 

Servants  were  summoned  by  her  alarmed  partner,  and  every- 
thing done  that  could  tend  to  her  relief;  but  she  only  lingered 
until  midnight,  and  died — without  a  word,  without  a  struggle  ! 

Now  was  Pryce  Benedick,  indeed,  a  lonely  man.  From 
the  hour  of  his  wife's  death,  he  daily  decreased  in  health — 
wasting  away,  by  degrees,  like  a  taper  upon  the  .eve  of 
expiring,  and  growing  so  abrupt  and  stern  in  his  demeanor, 
that  he  became  an  object  of  perpetual  fear  to  his  domestics, 
•who  one  by  one  deserted  him ;  until,  at  last,  not  a  soul 
remained  to  cheer  him  in  his  frightful  solitude.  By  extrava- 
gant promises,  Crawley,  indeed,  succeeded  in  persuading  a 
desperate  character,  who  would  have  undertaken  anything  for 
money,  to  stay  with  him ;  and,  strangely  enough,  this  fellow, 
by  his  very  insolence,  so  endeared  himself  to  the  old  man, 
that  the  latter  began  to  look  forward  to  his  daily  quarrels 
with  that  smooth-tempered  individual  as  the  enlivening  points 
of  his  earthly  existence. 

"Job,"  he  would  say  to  his  servant,  when  a  fit  of  debility 
was  on  him,  and  he  could  not  rise  from  his  great  arm-chair, 
"  wheel  me,  you  scoundrel,  into  the  piazza  that  looks  out  on 
the  garden." 

"  Ain't  you  comfortable  enough  where  you  be  ?"  Job  would 
coldly  answer ;  "  al'us  a  callin'  of  a  feller  from  his  engage- 
ments, and  wanting  for  to  be  wheeled  somewhere !" 

"  Faugh  ! — get  out  o'  my  sight ! — ye  hound !  ye  serpent !  ye 
undutiful  vagabond  !"  Benedick  would  exclaim,  when  Job  had 
grumblingly  wheeled  him  on  to  the  piazza.  "  Ye  earn  your 
wages  easily — you  do  !" 


304  VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     OF    THE    CITY. 

And  Job,  dodging  the  cane  which  his  master  threw  at  his 
head,  would  whine,  as  he  took  it  back  to  him — "  was  there 
ever  a  iller-used  person  in  the  world  ?" — and  the  rapidity  with 
which  he  would  skip  out  of  the  way,  before  his  master  could 
reach  him  with  his  stick,  would  have  done  credit  to  any 
posture-master  in  existence. 

Meanwhile,  the  aforesaid  Job,  whose  ruddy  countenance 
seems  familiar  to  us,  was  ransacking  the  house  from  top  to 
bottom,  appropriating  to  himself  such  objects  of  value  and 
accommodation  as  he  knew  he  could  most  easily  dispense 
with  (for  a  consideration)  in  the  city ;  thus  it  happened  that 
many  of  the  most  costly  articles  which  had  heretofore  adorned 
the  family  mansion  of  the  Benedicks,  found  their  way  into 
the  shops  of  the  pawnbrokers — those  "  houses'?  whence  the 
articles  pledged  seldom  or  never  "  return" — and  Job  waxed  fat 
and  insolent  upon  the  strength  of  his  occasional  "forced 
loans,"  as  he  facetiously  termed  them. 

The  blasts  of  March  were  rapidly  giving  way  before  the 
alternate  smiles  and  tears  of  April ;  when,  one  pleasant  after- 
noon, the  air  of  dreamy  solitude  of  which  poets  love  to  talk 
— over  their  steaming  whiskey  punches  and  fragrant  Havanas 
— which  lingered  about  the  premises  of  Mr.  Timothy  Flint, 
was  disturbed  by  a  smart  rat-tat,  as  if  from  the  handle  of  a 
cane,  upon  the  panels  of  his  door. 

"  Oh !  don't  stand  on  ceremony,  now !"  growled  a  voice 
from  the  inside,  snappishly.  "I'm  in  no  joking  mood 
to-day  ;  so  come  in  at  once  ;  and — eh  ?  this  is  a  world  !" — 
and  Flint  sank  back  into  his  seat,  from  which  he  was  on  the 


.THE    DEATH    BLOW.  305 

point  of  rising,  shocked — shaken  from  his  moral  axis,  by  the 
apparition  which  entered  at  his  bidding. 

"  Surprisin' ;  ain't  it  ?"  said  the  intruder — a  personage  of 
middling  size,  with  a  very  ruddy  face,  dressed,  in  what  is 
called  by  "  knowing  ones,"  the  "  tip  of  the  fancy ;"  and, 
moreover,  in  all  the  colors  of  a  rainbow,  in  compliment,  pro- 
bably, to  the  coming  spring.  "  Surprisin'  that  a  humble 
individual  sich  as  Job  Jarvis  should  revel  in  a  suit  like  this. 
But  there's  no  knowin'  what  may  not  be  did  in  this  world." 

"  Job,  you're  in  luck,"  said  Mr.  Flint,  recovering  from  his 
prostration  ;  "  but,  come  now,  I  say,  where  did  you  steal 
those  things  ?  Tell  me,  now,  like  an  honest  lad,  and  I'll  say 
nothing  about  it  to  the  police." 

"  I  didn't  steal  'em !  upon  my  precious  soul  I  didn't,  Mr. 
Flint,"  replied  Job,  turning  a  shade  less  red,  with  apprehen- 
sion, at  the  mysterious  insinuation  of  his  former  tutor  and 
patron ;  "  I  come  by  'em  honestly,  sure  as  my  name  is  Job  !" 

"That'll  do,  Job,  to  tell  the  marines,"  rejoined  Mr.  Flint, 
coolly ;  "  you've  found  a  nice  chance  somewhere,  tny  boy, 
and  you've  been  improving  it.  Come,  now,  honestly, 
Job — honestly,  where  and  how  did  you  get  'em  ?" 

"  It's  o'  no  use  tryin'  to  come  it  over  you,  sir,  it  isn't," 
answered  Job,  with  reckless  desperation  in  his  looks  and  bear- 
ing ;  "  I  did  steal  'em,  I  own  up.  Oh  !  why  did  I  come  hero 
at  all  ?"  he  added,  in  his  most  lachrymose  manner. 

"  To  show  off,  Job  ;  to  flaunt  your  insolence  and  your  fine 
clothes,  in  the  face  of  your  old  tutor,  who,  you  know,  is  as 


306  VIOLET,   THE    CHILD    OF   THE    CIIT. 

poor  as  a  Chinaman,  and  all  because  he's  taken  to  being 
honest,  and  keeping  decent  company — that's  why  !" 

"  I  did — I  did  ;  I  own  up  !"  groaned  Job,  who  now,  as  he 
•wrung  his  hands  with  grief,  presented  a  piteous  spectacle. 

"  And  what  tempted  you  to  do  it,  Job  ?" 

"  I  couldn't  help  it,"  retorted  the  victim  ;  "  the  things  was 
there,  and  I  was  inwiggled  into  it!  But  don't  you  betray 
me,  and  I'll  tell  you  where  there's  lots  more  to  be  had.'  Oh  ! 
Moses,  what  a  fix  I'm  in,  to  be  sure  !" 

"  A  nice  fix,  I  should  say,"  rejoined  Mr.  Flint,  feeling  his 
chin,  as  doctors  do,  when  arguing  over  a  very  bad  case.  "  It 
grieves  me,  Job,  my  child,  to  see  all  my  laborious  teachings  thus 
thrown  away  upon  you.  But  the  cap-piece  of  your  villainy  is 
to  dare  to  offer  to  make  me  a  companion  in  your  crimes.  It 
really  arouses  my  indignation  to  such  a  pitch,  that  I  must  call 
in  a  friend  to  assist  me." 

And,  as  he  turned  to  the  closet,  and  opened  it,  Job  expect- 
ed to  see  nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  Hays  walk  out  to 
apprehend  him.  When  he  saw  only  a  jug,  however,  he  began 
to  comprehend  a  thing  or  two,  and  his  eyes,  or,  rather,  his 
nose,  brightened  considerably. 

"  Sit  down,  Job,  and  calm  your  feelings,"  said  Flint,  pour- 
ing a  glass  of  the  "  raw  material "  for  him.  "  And  now  you 
may  go  on  with  your  developments — but  speak  low,  Job,  or 
you  might  compromise  your  reputation." 

Job  then  gave  his  former  associate  a  correct  idea  of  what 
•was  transpiring  at  the  family  mansion  in  Westchester,  where 


THE    DEATH    BLOW.  807 

I 

he  had  been,  for  some  weeks,  having  grown' tired,  as  he  said, 
of  dishonest  practices,  employed  as  a  servant ;  and  added  that 
there  was  a  strong  box,  in  one  of  the  rooms,  which  defied 
all  his  efforts  to  lift  and  which  would  be  worthy  the  talents 
and  genius  of  Jack  Sheppard,  himself,  were  he  still  alive. 

Flint  meditated  deeply  for  many  minutes ;  and  then,  sud- 
denly waking  up,  he  patted  Job  familiarly  on  the  shoulder, 
and  took  one  of  his  hands  in  his  own. 

"That'll  do,  Job,"  he  said,  in  a  low  whisper;  "be  sure  you 
don't  breathe  a-  word  of  this  to  living  soul,  but  call  on  me 
again  at  your  earliest  convenience,  when  we  may  talk  the 
matter  over,  and  arrange  preliminaries." 

Whereupon  Job,  delighted  at  having  secured  the  assistance 
of  his  old  protector,  lightly  crept  down  the  stairs,  and  into  the 
street. 


308  VIOLET,   THE     CHILD     OF    THE   CITT. 

.  • 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

FORSAKEN    BY    ALL. 

I 

ON  a  certain  delightful  morning  in  June,  a  gentleman, 
elegantly  dressed,  and  mounted  on  a  steed  of  faultless  make, 
came  clattering  up  the  road  which  ran  between  Fordham  and 
Yonkers,  biting  with  his  polished  teeth  the  curiously-shaped 
ivory  head  of  a  slender  whip  which  he  carried,  and  giving 
sundry  other  infallible  proofs  of  being  absorbed  in  a  very 
brown  study.  After  riding  for  some  space  of  time  in  this 
heedless  manner,  the  sudden  stoppage  of  his  horse  caused  Mr. 
Crawley  (for  it  was  that  awe-inspiring  personage)  to  look  up 
and  he  found  that,  instead  of  following  the  beaten  track  to 
Westchester,  the  beast  which  he  bestrode,  more  faithful  to 
his  stomach  than  to  his  master — and  led  by  the  sight  of  some 
hay  loosely  scattered  upon  the  ground — had  wandered,  "  of 
his  own  free  will,"  down  a  quiet  rustic  lane,  to  Mr.  Crawley, 
at  first,  quite  unknown,  as  the  air  of  bewilderment  with  which 
he  gazed  around  him  plainly  testified.  Directly  in  front  of 
the  spot  where  Mr.  Crawley  had  stopped,  was  a  gate ;  beyond 
that  gate  was  a  gravelled  path ;  and,  at  the  termination  of 
that  path,  a  miniature  villa,  which  struck  that  gentleman — 
involved,  as  he  had  just  been,  in  a  maze  of  mercenary 
speculations — as  being  familiar  to  him.  A  ride  of  a  few  steps 


FORSAKEN     BY    ALL.  309 

further  put  an  end  to   his  doubts.     It  was  Knickerbocker 

Cottage,  so  lately  the  quiet  residence  of  old  Mr.  Humphreys — 

• 
a  spot  which  for  some  reason  or  other  Crawley  did  not  seem 

to  be  much  in  love  with. 

"  Confusion  !"  he  muttered,  with  a  hasty  glance  at  his 
watch.  "  This  unfortunate  mistake  will  make  me  late,  I  fear. 
But  better  late  than  never,  Theophilus  Crawley !" 

Time  had  fled  away  more  rapidly  than  Mr.  Crawley  had 
bargained  for,  and  he  accordingly  made  up  for  his  loitering 
by  whipping  and  spurring  the  noble  beast  which  he  bestrode, 
until  the  poor  creature's  sides  were  covered  with  foam  and 
gashes.  Arrived  at  the  well-known  domicil  of  the  wealthy 
recluse,  he  jumped  from  his  horse,  and  suffered  him  to  stray 
wherever  he  found  the  herbage  thickest  and  most  inviting, 
and  took  his  way  to  a  magnificent  avenue,  bordered  with 
elms,  towards  the  house.  The  doors  were  all  open,  as  he 
approached — a  circumstance  which  did  not  much  surprise 
him — for  he  knew  the  old  man's  desolate  condition.  But 
when  he  had  passed  through  the  various  corridors,  and 
reconnoitered  every  apartment,  without  finding  any  trace  of 
him  he  came  to  seek,  he  concluded  that  there  had  been  foul 
play  upon  the  premises. 

"  Some  of  that  young  villain  Job's  doings  !"  he  muttered 
between  his  clenched  teeth,  as  he  returned  to  the  lower  hall, 
after  an  ineffectual  search  above.  "It  would  be 'a  very  sad 
affair  if  he  had  killed  him.  I  hope  not !  I  hope  not !"  All 
this  he  muttered  very  softly  to  himself,  and  his  face  was  ashy 
pale,  and  his  hands  trembled  much,  as  he  descended  the 


310  VIOLET,    THE    CHILD    OT   THK    CITY. 

cellar  stairs,  faintly  conceiving — shall  we  say  hoping  ? — that 
in  some  obscure  recess  of  that  noisome  place  the  hody  might 
have  been  stowed ! 

And  there,  sure  enough,  he  found  his  patron,  extended, 
helpless,  upon  the  slimy  pavement,  with  blood  upon  his  face, 
marks  of  a  struggle  for  life  upon  his  garments,  and  seeming 
signs  of  an  approaching  end.  Crawley  folded  his  arms,  and 
smiled  for  an  instant,  like  a  fiend  gloating  over  the  body  of 
a  victim,  upon  the  man  whose  hands  had  loaded  him  with 
favors,  and  then,  raising  him  with  little  difficulty,  bore  him 
into  the  open  air. 

But  the  old  man  had  not  a  mind  to  give  up  life  so  easily. 

"  My  dear  sir !"  exclaimed  Crawley,  with  an  air  of  pretended 
solicitude,  while  he  assisted  him  into  a  chair,  "  Let  me  trust 
that  no  serious  injury  has  befallen  you.  Should  you  die  thus 
prematurely,  not  only  would  your  decease  be  felt  as  a  public 
— I  may  say,  a  national — calamity,  but  the  proud  family  of 
the  Benedicks  would  be  extinct  for  ever." 

"  Don't  talk  to  me  of  death,  man  !"  rejoined  the  sufferer, 
with  an  energy  which  Crawley  did  not  suppose  him  to  pos- 
sess ;  "  I  have  been  bleeding  for  hours,  and  am  faint — very 
faint."  - 

"  You  are  bleeding  yet,  sir ;  suffer  me  to  bind  your  forehead ! 
— it  will  stay  it  for^a  while."  And  while  he  thus  employed 
himself,  this  modern  lago  contrived  to  glean  from  his  nearly 
exhausted  patient  that  the  injuries  which  had  at  first  presented 
so  fatal  an  appearance  had  been  inflicted  by  Job,  whose 
ignorance  of  the  use  of  firearms,  and  want  of  strength,  had 


FORSAKEN     BT    ALL.  311 

prevented  the  entire  accomplishment  of  his  purpose — namely, 
the  assassination  of  his  master,  for  the  purpose  of  obtaining 
the  key  to  his  money-chest ;  an  expectation,  however,  in  which 
the  young  scoundrel  was  disappointed,  as  Benedick  kept  all 
his  money  safe  in  bank,  and  used  none,  save  through  Crawley's 
agency,  for  household  purposes.  Enraged  at  his  ill  success, 
the  precocious  youth  had  obtained  a  heavy  adze,  and  pro- 
ceeded with  it  to  an  old  lumber  closet,  where,  amid  the  family 
heir- looms,  greasy  pictures,  antiquated  furniture,  and  articles 
of  domestic  use,  the  useless  rubbish  of  a  by-gone  century, 
reposed  the  box  which  he  foolishly  supposed  to  enshrine  the 
treasure  that  he  coveted.  The  lid  was  rotten,  and  a  few  blows 
of  the  adze,  even  from  so  frail  a  hand  as  that  of  Job,  soon 
sufficed  to  shake  it  from  its  fastenings.  It  needed  no  raising, 
however,  for,  as  the  clasp  was  broken,  it  flew  upwards  with  a 
crash,  and  a  ghastly,  grinning  skeleton  stood  revealed  to  the 
horrified  eyes  of  the  conscience-stricken  lad,  who  immediately 
dropped  his  adze,  and  fled,  frightened  into  an  ague  by  this 
simple  adjunct  of  a  doctor's  studio  ;  one  of  the  few  relics  of 
Pryce's  early  studies  long  since  thrown  aside  here,  and  for- 
gotten. 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  Mr.  Crawley  was  bending  over 
the  body  of  his  patron  in  the  cellar,  and  as  he  ascended  the 
stairs  with  his  powerless  burthen,  the  creator  of  all  the  mis- 
chief bounded  out  at  the  do<5r,  and  was  soon  seen,  by  certain 
superstitiously-inclined  persons,  flying,  like  Tarn  O'Shanter, 
down  the  Harlem  road,  mounted  upon  the  back  of  Mr. 
Crawley's  well-fed  stallion  I 


312  VIOLET,   THE    CHILD    OF   THE  .CITY. 

There  was  great  rejoicing  that  evening  at  the  hovel  where 
Mr.  Timothy  Flint  and  his  friends  had  been  so  comfortably 
located  for  the  past  few  years.  The  achievement  of  Job, 
though  not  a  master  stroke,  was  such  as  to  raise  him  wonder- 
fully in  the  estimation  of  his  old  associates,  and  they  resolved 
to  make  a  night  of  it  on  the  strength  of  the  unexpected 
accession  to  their  booty. 

And  they  did  make  a  night  of  it — to  such  an  extent,  that 
many  of  the  company  fell  drunk  before  daylight;  and  solitary 
wayfarers,  pedestrianizing  it  at  a  great  distance  along  the 
avenues,  wondered  at  the  unwonted  racket,  unable  to  imagine 
whence  the  din  proceeded.  Within  the  "  den,"  as  the  night 
waxed  late,  all  was  tumult  and  bacchanalian  confusion  ;  until, 
at  last,  one,  more  drunken  than  the  rest,  made  a  dash  for  the 
fire,  and  seizing  from  it  a  burning  brand,  cast  it  with  a 
drunken  yell  into  the  midst  of  the  dancers ;  then  ensued  a 
scene  which  beggared  all  description.  Communicating  to 
the  clothes  of  several  of  the  bacchanals,  which  were  like  so 
much  tinder,  the  flames  next  ascended  to  the  rotten  wood  of 
the  low  ceiling,  and  soon  the  ruined  homestead  was  enveloped 
in  a  sheet  of  flames.  Many,  tearing  away  with  ease  portions 
of  the  flooring,  made  their  escape,  thoroughly  sobered  by  the 
awful  catastrophe  which  had  deprived  them  of  a  house ;  but 
many,  also,  stayed  behind,  and  were  roasted,  piecemeal,  in  the 
burning  furnace ;  whilst  neighbors  grouped  around  from  far 
and  near,  and  wondered  at  the  sight. 


EXCITING     EVENTS.  313 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

EXCITING    EVENTS. 

IT  has  been  more  than  once  hinted,  in  the  course  of  this 
novel,  that  there  was  one  quality  among  all  others,  great  and 
small,  upon  the  having  of  which  Mr.  Crawley  prided  himself 
not  a  little — namely :  self-possession.  Nevertheless,  he  was 
not  particularly  delighted  on  making  the  discovery  that  some 
one  had  stolen  away  his  favorite  horse,  and  if  he  did  not 
exactly  swear  upon  the  occasion,  it  was  from  the  same  motive 
which  actuated  the  blasphemous  wagoner  in  the  story,  when 
he  had  spilled  his  wagon  load  of  flour — he  couldn't  do  jus- 
tice to  the  subject ! 

No  time  was  to  be  lost,  however,  and,  therefore,  instead  of 
trying  to  hunt  up  the  thief,  or  making  a  moan  over  his  mis- 
fortune, he  hurried  across  fields,  ditches,  and  seeming  impene- 
trable thickets,  until  he  found  himself  in  the  bar-room  of  an 
inn,  which  was  called,  pleasantly  enough,  the  "Jolly  Bache- 
lors," although  the  countenances  of  the  several  rough-looking 
customers  who  looked  up  on  Crawley's  entrance  somewhat 
belied  the  name.  The  Dismal  Stage  Drivers  would  have 
been  a  far  better  one;  for  the  locomotive  had  then  almost 
prostrated  their  calling,  and  the  independent  stage-drivers,  in 
consequence,  were  being  reduced  to  the  last  stages  of  despe- 

14 


314  VIOLET,   THE     CHILD    OF    THE    CITT. 

ration  and  drink.  Crawley  didn't  care  a  jot  for  their 
miseries,  however,  and  refused  all  inducements  to  remain  and 
hear  a  circumstantial  recital  of  their  woes,  at  a  meeting 
which  *vas  to  be  held  that  evening  in  the  public  room  of  the 
tavern,  for  the  purpose  of  eliciting  the  sympathies  (and  the 
dimes)  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  county.  But,  having 
informed  the  red-nosed  landlord  of  his  necessities,  the  latter, 
upon  Mr.  Crawley's  leaving  a  certain  amount,  by  way  of 
security,  furnished  his  "  queer  customer  "  (whom  he  suspected 
strongly  of  being  an  absquatulating  director,  or  something  in 
that  line),  with  a  tolerable  looking  animal,  which  the  agent 
immediately  bestrode,  and  dashed  away  from  the  inn  in 
glorious  style,  amid  a  peal  of  graveyard  laughter  from  the 
assembled  society  of  dismal  stage-drivers — who  regarded 
Crawley  in  all  sorts  of  kaleidoscopic  views,  merely  because  he 
wouldn't  ask  them  to  drink. 

"  A  remarkable  day  this,"  wheezed  Boniface,  re-entering  his 
domicil,  followed  by  his  "  customers." 

A  groan  came  up  from  the  toeless  boots  of  the  dismal 
stagers,  and  spread  itself  about  the  apartment,  at  this 
announcement. 

"  An  eventful  day  is  this !  There's  the  event  of  Joe 
Biggins  coming  back  from  California,  and  paying  his  little  bill 
of  six'nsixpuus,  which  he's  been  a  owin'  of  me  ever  since 
the  locomotive  'gan  a  runnin'." 

Here  there  was  another  groan ;  and  such  a  groan !  It 
seemed  as  if  all  the  waistcoat  strings  in  the  room  must  have 
burst  with  the  effort. 


EXCITING    EVENTS.  315 

"  And  a  tellin'  me,  that  things  had  took  a  new  turn  with 
him ;  which  I  seen  plain  enough,  though,  by  reason  of  his 
gay  blue  coat  and  yaller  vest." 

The  thought  of  Joe  Biggins  in  a  gay  blue  coat  and  "  yaller 
vest"  proved  too  much  for  the  feelings  of  the  assemblage, 
and  a  third  groan  broke  from  their  cavernous  jaws. 

"Then,  there's  the  sober-faced  chap,  that  earned  in  early 
this  forenoon,  and  asked  for  one  brandy-and-water,  and  paid 
sixpence — as  if  prices  hadn't  never  been  reduced,  nor 
nothin'." 

"  Oh !  he  be  hanged !"  growled  one  of  the  most  dismal  of 
the  dismals. 

"  I  dare  say  he  is,  before  this,"  answered  the  publican ;  "  he 
looked  very  like  to  a  victim  of  some  temperance  society,  or 
steam  opposition  company  ;  or,  perhaps,  he's  been  to  Furrier's 
menagerie  to  see  the  Phalanx,  and  got  bit.  Anyway,  he 
went  down  to'ards  the  woods,  yonder,  and  that's  event  num- 
ber two." 

This  dreadful  suggestion  was  insufficient  to  draw  a  faint 
grunt,  even,  from  the  dismals ;  suicide  was  so  common  among 
them  that  they  had  learned  to  view  it  with  stoical  indif- 
ference. 

"  Last,  and  not  least,"  said  the  landlord,  "  there's  that  there 
chap  what  came  here  in  such  a  hurry,  and  wouldn't  drink 
nothin',  nor  stand  treat  to  nobody,  and  went  off  to'ards 
York  with  a  face  like  a  chalk  mark  on  my  bar-room 
door." 

"  A  rascal,  no  doubt,"  said  one. 


816  VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     OF    THE     CITT. 

w  'Scaped  from  some  prison,"  said  another. 

"  Blood  on  his  shirt  bussum,  plain  !"  added  a  third. 

"  You're  all  on  the  wrong  scent,  boys,"  said  the  publican, 
when  each  had  had  his  fling  at  the  unsuspecting  Crawley, 
"  it's  my  opinion  that  he's  a " 

"What?  which?" 

w  A— 'squattelater !" 

Here  Boniface  drew  himself  up,  refilled  his  pipe,  and  took 
a  kind  of  half-eye  view  of  his  cronies,  as  if  conscious  of  the 
effect  that  his  superior  personal  acquirements  had  exercised 
upon  them. 

"  What's  a  'squattelater  ?"  at  length  asked  one. 

"  Don't  you  know,  none  of  you  ?" 

"  No !"     Every  one  said  "  no." 

"  Well,  then,  as  near  as  I  can  get  at  it,  he's  a  bank  director, 
what  gets  into  excellent  favor  with  his  associates,  and  then 
runs  away  with  all  the  specie — that's  a  'squattelater !" 

What  the  result  of  all  this  display  of  superior  knowledge 
might  have  been,  there's  no  telling,  had  it  not  been  followed 
by  an  immediate  invitation  to  drink  on  the  part  of  the  host. 

Before  they  had  emptied  the  glasses  which  they  had  raised 
to  their  lips,  there  was  a  sudden  peal  of  thunder  without,  fol- 
lowed by  a  sharp,  quick  flash  of  lightning,  and  a  drenching 
torrent  of  rain. 

"  The  old  'un's  beating  his  sheet  iron  to  some  purpose,  to- 
night," remarked  the  proprietor  of  the  Jolly  Bachelors,  good- 
humoredly.  "  Just  like  your  luck,  my  boys ;  there  won't  be 
no-meetin',  after  all  1" 


317 


Oh  I  the  groan  with  which  the  «K«nA  received  this  Kttle 
piece  of  pleasantly. 

A  dead  silence  succeeded,  interrupted  only  by  the  nones 
of  the  elements,  or  the  landlord  washing  the  dirty  tnmhlere 
(he  had  a  red-pated  barkeeper  who  fulfilled  that  duty  once  !) 
in  his  retreat  behind  the  tempting  rows  of  bottles  and 
decanters.  As  the  storm  increased  in  violence,  the  djaqtyal* 
being  closely  huddled  about  the  bar-room  fire,  each  wrapped 
in  bis  own  reflections,  the  door  was  once  more  flung  open, 
and  two  female  figures  emerged  from  the  pitchy  darkness  of 
the  road  (for  it  had  long  been  night),  and  stood  shivering  in 
the  centre  of  the  floor.  One  was  old,  ugly,  and  decrepit  ;  the 
other  was  slender,  and  trembled  violently,  but  was  so  closely 
wrapped  in  her  garments,  that,  had  it  not  been  for  a  single 
curl  of  glossy  black  hair  which  strayed  from  beneath  her 
ragged  bonnet,  her  age  could  have  been  but  vaguely  gneaaed  aL 
Both  were  ragged  and  in  want,  and  that  was  enough  for  the 
pot-bellied  publican. 

**  Well,  well  —  what  do  you  want  there,  hey  ?  holding  an 
honest  man's  door  open  to  the  danger  and  discomfort  of 
respectable  people  F 

•  Charity  and  shelter  from  the  elements  T  said  the  elder 
of  the  two. 

"Charity  and  shelter,  eh!  —  a  pretty  idea;  you  know 
you're  only  lookin'  for  a  chance  to  pick  gentlemen's  pockets, 
or  something  of  that  sort  —  so  be  off  with  you  !" 

"  Pity  us  !  we  are  women  F*  sobbed  a  not  unmusical,  but 
choking  voice  from  beneath  the  hood  of  the  younger. 


818  VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     OF    THE     CITr. 

"Ah,  yes!  pity! — that's  the  tune  your  sect  is  always  a 
harping  upon,"  said  the  red-nosed  man,  who  was  warming  his 
back  at  the  fire.  "  Get  out — or  I'll  send  you  both  to — you 
know  where  !" 

And,  as  he  made  a  movement  towards  them,  the  two  unfor- 
tunates retreated  to  the  door — where,  for  an  instant,  the  elder 
paused,  undaunted  by  the  scowls  of  the  angry  landlord. 

"  Curse  you  !"  she  said — "  and  all  who  deal  in  your  unholy 
traffic !  It  has  made  a  beggar  of  me,  and  outcasts  of  my 
children,  and  in  my  despair  I  shower  down  on  ye  the  bit- 
terest malediction  of  an  outraged  woman's  heart !  curse  ye ! 
curse  ye !"  and,  for  some  moments,  her  voice  continued  to 
be  heard  above  the  loudest  din  of  the  elements,  as  she  franti- 
cally called  upon  Heaven  to  avenge  her  upon  one  of  that 
numerous-  tribe  to  whom  she  attributed  the  cause  of  all  her 
troubles. 

"  That  there's  a  pleasant  creter,"  remarked  the  red-nosed 
man,  returning,  undisturbed,  to  the  fire.  "  I  makes  no  doubt 
she'd  took  a  drink,  if  I'd  axed  her." 

Like  most  persons  of  his  calling,  this  overgrown  receptacle 
for  beer  and  pudding  never  heard  himself  addressed  by  a 
stranger,  without  supposing  that  there  was  a  design  on  foot 
to  get  a  "  drink  "  out  of  him. 

"  It  was  a  little  hard,  though,"  hazarded  one  of  the  most 
quiet  of  the  dismals ;  "  they  was  wimmen,  Jim  !" 

"  Bah  !  don't  talk  to  me  o'  wimmen  !  I've  had  enough  on 
'em,  ever  since  that  bad  quarter  was  giv'  to  me,  by  one  of 
their  kidney  at  the  market  And  as  for  the  cruelty  of 


EXCITING    EVENTS.  319 

the  thing,  they're  only  vagrants,  and  will  be  taken  up  for 

sich!" 
• 

Yes — well  he  knew  it,  that  bloated,  cross-grained  piece  of 

humanity  ' — it  was  a  crime  by  the  statute  to  be  without  the 
means  of  purchasing  a  home ;  it  was  a  crime  to  walk  erect 
upon  the  bosom  of  the  "  generous  earth,"  with  its  clustering 
foliage  and  golden  grain,  which  God  once  gave  to  all ;  a 
crime  to  seek  repose  beneath  that  starry  canopy,  which, 
luckily,  man  cannot  reach,  or  he  would,  long  ere  this,  have 
claimed  it  for  his  own !  Society  drives  its  victims  from  its 
doors  for  their  poverty,  and  casts  them  into  a  prison,  among 
thieves  and  felons  of  all  denominations,  for  obeying  its  direc- 
tions !  Verily,  our  penitentiaries  are  excellent  schools  for 
vice,  and  it  is  ten  to  one  that  the  poor  wretch,  who  first  finds 
lodgment  in  our  city  prison  as  a  "  vagrant,"  will  eventually 
enter  its  doors,  a  murderer — never  to  pass  therefrom  alive  ! 
Therefore,  most  aptly  was  it  named  "  The  Tombs." 

In  the  meantime,  Mr.  Crawley,  all  unconscious  of  the 
unsavory  character  which  he  had  left  behind  him  at  the 
"  Jolly  Bachelors,"  had  urged  the  animal  which  he  had  hired 
of  the  red- nosed  landlord,  to  its  utmost  speed ;  for  it  was  get- 
ting to  be  dusk,  and  he  saw,  with  feelings  of  peculiar  uneasi- 
ness, that  a  storm  was  brewing.  Despite  his  best  efforts, 
nevertheless,  he  had  not  gotten  farther  than  a  mile  from  the 
inn,  and  was  cantering  through  a  small  patch  of  woods, 
which  line  the  road  at  either  hand,  when  the  storm  burst 
over  him,  drenching  him  at  once  to  the  skin ;  and  a  bolt  fall- 
ing at  the  same  moment  upon  a  tall  tree,  some  hundreds  of 


320  VIOLET,    THE    CHILP*OF   THE   CUT. 

yards  in  advance,  hurled  it  with  a  fearful  crash  directly  across 
Crawley's  path.  Affrighted  by  the  sudden  uproar,  the  now 
lively  animal  unexpectedly  dashed  forward,  in  utter  defiance 
of  whip,  spur,  and  rein,  and  talcing  the  blazing  mass  at  a 
single  bound,  she  caught  her  feet,  stumbled,  and  fell  to  the 
ground — having  thrown  Crawley,  in  a  series  of  somersets,  a 
distance  of  several  yards  from  where  she  had  herself  fallen. 

How  it  was  that  the  "confidential  agent  of  the  house  of 
Benedick  &  Co."  was  not  instantaneously  deprived  of  life  by 
being  thus  launched  through  the  air,  as  it  were,  like  a  stone 
from  a  catapult,  it  is  hard  to  say.  At  any  rate,  he  did  not 
die,  though  the  horse  did;  and  on  recovering  his  senses,  some 
five  minutes  after  the  calamity  had  happened,  he  found  him- 
self sitting  upright,  upon  some  loose  straw,  with  his  back 
supported  against  what  appeared  to  be  the  foundation  wall  of 
a  ruined  building,  of  which  there  are  many  yet  scattered 
about  Westchester  county ;  deserted  by  their  families  during 
some  of  the  incursions  of  the  British  soldiery,  at  the  time  of 
the  Revolution,  and  ruthlessly  burned  by  the  latter,  but  rarely 
rebuilt.  A  rude  fire  was  sputtering  and  crackling  before  him, 
and,  when  the  smoke  had  sufficiently  cleared  away  to  enable 
him  to  recognise  objects,  he  could  distinguish  two  femalo 
figures — the  youngest  of  whom  was  violently  chafing  his 
hands  and  temples,  in  an  endeavor  to  restore  him  to  con- 
sciousness ;  while  the  other,  an  old,  haggard,  and  decrepit 
woman,  sat  crouching  over  the  fire,  like  a  salamander,  occa- 
sionally turning  to  her  companion  to  give  vent  to  some  bitter 
remark. 


EXCITING     EVENTS.  S21 

"  Why  do  you  take  so  much  trouble  for  one  who  would 
not  have  soiled  his  dainty  clothes  to  do  the  like  for  us  ?" 
snarled  the  eldest,  on  one  of  these  interesting  occasions. 

"  Because  I  am  not  old  like  you,  and  frozen  to  stone  ;  and, 
because,  having  myself  experienced  the  need  of  mercy,  I 
would  be  merciful  to  others,"  was  the  reply. 

"  You'll  have  your  trouble  for  your  pains,  I'm.  thinking. 
If  he  wakes,  it  will  only  be  to  howl  and  writhe  with  agony, 
and  it  would  be  a  greater  mercy  to  let  the  chap  slip  his  wind 
without  knowing  it." 

"  How  can  you  talk  so  coolly  of  abandoning  a  fellow-crea- 
ture to  such  a  fate  ?  Do  you  not  believe  there  is  a  Heaven  ?" 

"  Humph  !  I  believed  a  great  many  things  once ;  for  I  was 
young,  and  handsome,  and  credulous,  as  you  have  been ;  I 
believed  that  there  were  such  things  in  the  world  as  love  and 
happiness — but  I  lived  to  be  deceived,  and  learned  to  deceive 
others  in  my  turn.  Ha !  ha !  that's  the  true  revenge — the 
true  revenge !" 

The  other  shuddered  at  the  words  of  her  aged  companion 
in  misery,  and  resumed  her  former  occupation 

"  How  if  he  should  know  you !"  suddenly  asked  the  crone, 
after  a  momentary  pause. 

"Impossible!  and  if  he  should,  what  need  I  care?  Do  I 
look  like  one  that  should  heed  what  others  may  say  of  me  ? 
Hush  !  he  is  coming-to.  A  moment,  and — " 

"  Whoagh  !  Caspian  ! — good  fellow — 'tis  nothing  :  stoop 
— stoop,  boy  !  and  over  we  go !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Crawley  (in 
tones  very  unlike  those  of  a  dying  man). 

14* 


322  VIOLET,    THE     CHILD     OF    THE    CITY. 

"  Why,  where  in  the  devil's  name — "  said  he,  looking 
confusedly  around. 

"  Ay — ay ;  that's  right,"  growled  the  crone ;  "  call  first  on 
your  patron's  name;  and,  maybe,  as  he  got  you  into  this 
scrape,  he'll  get  you  out  of  it." 

"  Will  somebody  have  the  kindness  to  tell  me  if  I  am,  or 
am  not,  Mr.  Crawley,  of  775  East  Two-hundreth  and  ninety- 
ninth  street,  New  York ;  and,  also,  give  me  some  particulars 
relative  to  where  I  am,  and  when  and  how  I  got  here  ?" 
Crawley  continued,  in  the  same  discontented,  snappish  tone 
as  before.  And,  as  he  spoke,  he  tossed  a  piece  of  silver  over 
towards  the  crone. 

In  less  than  two  minutes,  Mr.  Crawley  knew  all  that  he 
desired,  and  more;  and  bitterly  he  cursed  the  unconscious 
of  his  detention. 

"  Staying  here  won't  mend  the  matter,"  said  the  crone ; 
"  you're  on  your  feet  again,  and  can  walk  as  well  as  ever, 
barring  a  little  limp." 

"  My  business  is  urgent,"  he  answered ;  "  'tis  of  life  and 
death,  and  I  must  reach  New  York  before  morning,  or  Pryce 
Benedick,  Esq.,  of  Ashburton  Place,  is  a  dead  man  !" 

"  Benedick,  did  you  say  ?"  cried  the  young  woman  ;  sud- 
denly starting  forward  from  the  obscure  corner  into  which  she 
had  retreated  upon  Crawley's  rising. 

"  Yes,  young  woman  ;  and  it's  a  name  you  should  hold  in 
perpetual  reverence  as  a  benefactor.  Many's  the  penny  he 
has  given  to  the  children  of  such  as  you." 

"  You  shall  have  a  horse,  if  I  die  for  it !"  she  cried  wildly ; 


EXCITING     EVENTS.  323 

and,  rushing  from  the  place,  she  disappeared  for  about  five 
minutes;  at  the  end  of  which  time,  Crawley  heard  her 
returning,  leading  a  horse,  freshly  caparisoned,  by  the 
bridle. 

"  Take  him  !"  she  exclaimed,  rapidly ;  "  take  him,  and  ask 
no  questions,  but  away !" 

Crawley  did  as  he  was  bidden,  and  then  the  old  hag,  and 
her  young  companion  in  misery,  were  alone. 

"  Where  did  you  get  that  horse  ?"  asked  the  old  woman, 
sharply,  almost  ere  Crawley's  heels  had  crossed  the 
threshold. 

"  From  the  shed  of  the  nearest  inn,  where  he  was  tied  ! 
They  may  send  me  to  jail  for  it,  but  I  care  not.  Come  !" 

"Let  go  my  clothes.  Why,  what  a  twitter  you're  in. 
Can't  we  wait  till  the  storm  is  over  ?" 

"  No — not  an  instant !"  rejoined  the  girl,  frantically  ; 
"  there  is  work  to  do,  and  gold  for  them  that  do  it !  Ask 
not,  but  come  !" 

These  were  the  couple  whose  intrusion,  at  the  "Jolly 
Bachelors,"  had  caused  s^much  displeasure  to  the  red- 
nosed  publican  and  his  customers.  Had  Mr.  Marcus  Mumps, 
which  was  the  name  of  that  august  personage,  but  faintly 
imagined  the  object  which  had  drawn  them  from  their  retreat, 
at  such  a  time,  how  different  would  have  been  his  hostship'a 
conduct ! 


824  VIOLET,    THB     CHILD     Of    1BK    CITT. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

THE  DEATH. 

PRTCK  BEKEDICK  lay  extended  in  his  great  arm-chair, 
drawn  close  to  the  fireplace  in  the  drawing-room  of  the  old 
family  mansion.  Glorious  music  made  the  tempest  about 
those  pointed  eaves  and  tottering  gables,  and  the  wind  held 
revel  in  the  empty  halls,  until  it  seemed  as  if  a  legion  of 
demons  must  have  been  loosed  to  fill  them.  And  Benedick, 
moved  by  raging  pains,  would  have  cried  aloud  in  unison 
with  the  wind ;  but  there  was  something  so  supernatural  and 
ghostlike  about  the  dreary  room,  that  he  dreaded  to  hear 
the  sound  of  his  own  accents ;  and  there  he  sat,  gazing  into 
the  fire,  and  counting  the  tickings  of  the  great  clock  in  the 
hall,  as  mute  and  motionless  as  if  the  spirit  had  already  fled 
its  earthly  tenement,  and  life  was  there  no  more. 

Suddenly  a  door  opened — a  rush  of  air  came  into  the  draw- 
ing-room, and  a  female  figure  cast  herself  at  his  feet,  and 
grasped  his  gown  convulsively,  while  she  sobbed  : 

w  Thank  God  !  there  is  yet  hope ;  he  is  not  dead  !" 

"  Why — what — what  is  this  ?"  asked  Benedick,  staring  at 
the  dripping  figure,  in  alarm  and  doubt  "Who  are  you? 
jmd  why  do  you  hold  me  so  fast  ?" 

?  FATHER  !  forgive  me !"  sobbed  the  miserable  creature  ;  "  I 


THE    DETATH.  i  325 

deeply  erred,  but  deep  has  been  my  penance.  For  months  I 
have  avoided  you,  as  un.\vorthy  to  re-enter  your  presence  ; 
but  the  thought  of  your  illness  has  supplanted  every  other 
feeling,  and  I  am  here  to  beg  a  blessing  and  a  pardon  ere  you 
die !" 

"  'Tis  false ;  you  want  my  money !  my  money !  but  you 
shan't  have  it !  Crawley  shall  have  it  all — any  one,  rather 
than  you — you,  who  haye  so  disgraced  your  family,  that  you 
are  no  longer  one  of  it !  Hence,  from  my  sight ! — begone !" 

"  Father !  don't  spurn  me !  There's  a  storm  without ;  and 
I,  your  Julia,  of  whom  you  were  so  proud,  so  fond,  am  in 
rags — am  famishing !" 

"  Begone,  I  tell  you  !  don't  tempt  me  to  strike  you,  girl ! — 
unclench  my  gown,  I  say  ! — fiends  and  furies  ! — " 

There  was  a  blow — a  shriek — a  rustling  of  garments,  as  the 
wretched  outcast  passed  from  her  father's  threshold,  and  the 
miserable  man  was  alone.  Then  it  was  that  his  pains  were 
redoubled — the  tempest  appeared  to  have  gained  additional 
furv,  and  every  timber  in  the  old  house  seemed  possessed  of  a 
voice,  and  added  a  shriek  to  hers.  And  now  selfishness  came, 
too ;  and  the  invalid  writhed  in  his  chair,  regretful  of  what 
he  had  done,  and  hungry,  and  cold,  and  shouted  for  her  to 
return. 

All  bounteous  Heaven!  can  it  be  that  his  prayer  is 
answered!  The  outward  door  swings  open  with  a  noise; 
footsteps  approach ;  they  enter ;  and  the  invalid  is  surrounded 
by  an  anxious,  wondering  group. 


826  VIOLET,    THE     CHIBD     OF    THE     CITY. 

"  My  daughter — is  she  not  among  you  ?"  he  asks,  in  a  gar- 
rulous,  wandering  manner.  "  She  was  here  but  now." 

Startled  by  the  voice,  a  single  person  advances  from  the 
group  to  the  speaker's  side.  Their  eyes  meet — a  mutual 
exclamation  escape  their  lips  : 

"Alexander!" 

"EDITH!" 

And,  attempting  to  rise  from  his  seat,  Benedick  stumbled 
forward  upon  the  floor,  breathed  a  few  inarticulate  sounds, 
strugggled  an  instant  or  so  in  the  greatest  agony,  and 
expired  ! 

A  smile  came  over  the  haggard  countenance  of  the  woman 
as  he  fell.  She  turned  without  a  word,  and  walked  with  a 
firmer  tread  and  a  brighter  eye  from  the  apartment. 


VIOLET     FINDS     A     NEW     PKOTECTOR.  327 


CHAPTER   XL. 

VIOLET   FINDS    A   NEW    PROTECTOR. 

CUNNING  Mr.  Crawley !  your  schemes  are  well  laid ;  but 
they  are  built  upon  a  perilous  foundation,  and  a  breath  of 
wind  may  scatter  them  to  all  the  quarters  of  the  compass. 
The  miserable  girl  who  saved  you  from  the  death  you  so 
richly  merited,  fancied  that  you  rode  to  save  her  father's  life, 
and  sent  a  blessing  with  you.  She  little  knew  your  true 
intentions,  and  wise  was  it  in  you  to  conceal  them ;  for,  had 
she  read  your  cankered  heart  aright,  a  tigress  had  been  a 
safer  companion  than  she ! 

The  news  of  Benedick's  death  spread  rapidly  through  the 
neighborhood,  and  affected  none  so  deeply  as  "  Mr.  Hum- 
phreys." Without  loss  of  time  he  made  a  few  preparations, 
and,  accompanied  by  Herbert,  set  out  for  the  scene  of  excite- 
ment. He  arrived  there  to  find  the  house  stripped  of  every- 
thing valuable  that  it  contained. 

But  the  old  man  was  to  make  a  discovery,  which  pained 
him  more  deeply  than  anything  which  had  preceded  it  The 
absence  of  Alice  seemed  to  him  the  most  important  event  of 
all.  He  ransacked  the  entire  neighborhood,  and  followed  up 
with  eagerness  every  suggestion  which  seemed  to  cast  a  light 
upon  the  matter.  And,  when  it  was  found  that  all  his  efforts 


328  VIOLET,    THE    CHILD    OF    THE    CIT1'. 

were  unavailing,  and  the  melancholy  apprehension  that  she 
had  fallen  into  the  river  began  by  degrees  to  force  itself  upon 
his  mind,  the  old  man  settled  down  into  a  heavy  fit  of  melan- 
choly. 

Mr.  Humphreys,  however,  did  not  believe  she  was  altogether 
lost,  and  the  matter  was  still  in  this  unsettled  state,  when  a 
note,  which  reached  them  on  the  afternoon  succeeding  to  the 
night  of  her  disappearance,  elucidated  the  mystery.  It  was 
written  in  a  female  hand,  and  contained  merely  the  direction 
to  the  place  where  Alice  had  been  conveyed  by  her  mother. 

Herbert  wondered  at  the  old  man's  emotion  as  he  read  the 
epistle.  But,  wonder,  when  Humphrey  Benedict,  as  we  must 
now  call  him,  found  himself  once  more  united  to  wife  and 
child  1 

Alice  was,  in  fact,  the  child  of  Humphrey  Benedick.  A 
private  marriage  in  a  village  church  had  scarcely  consummat- 
ed his  union  with  Edith  Gray,  when  Benedick,  who  was  even 
then  making  preparations  to  acknowledge  her  in  the  presence  of 
parents,  was  shocked  to  hear  that  she  was  living  under  the 
protection  of  his  brother.  The  blow  was  too  harsh  for  his 
noble  nature  to  bear  up  under.  Humphrey  went  to  sea, 
leaving  his  affairs  in  a  very  disjointed  condition,  and  Alice 
was  adopted  by  Pryce,  as  we  have  seen.  News  having 
arrived  of  his  brother's  shipwreck,  the  latter,  of  course,  took 
possession  of  the  fortune  left  for  Alice.  But  nothing  had  ever 
been  said  of  this  to  her,  and  she  had  been  brought  up  from 
her  infancy  to  the  hour  in  which  she  left  the  shelter  of  their 
roof  as  the  poor  partaker  in  the  rich  Benedick's  bounty. 


VIOLET     FINDS     A     NKW    PROTECTOR.  329 

Mr.  Humphrey  Benedick  lost  no  time  in  making  himself 
known,  and  settling  up  his  brother's  affairs,  which  were  found 
to  be  in  a  better  condition  than  he  had  anticipated.  Although 
the  whole  estate  as  it  was  belonged  of  right  to  him,  the  good 
old  man  advertised  for  the  absent  heirs  of  Pryce,  that  justice 
might  at  least  be  done  them.  But  nothing  could  be  gleaned 
with  regard  to  either  Julia  or  Max. 


330  VIOLET,   THE    CHILD    OF    THE    CITY. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

THE    CLOUDS    DISPERSED. 

AND  so  the  generous  forbearance  of  Humphrey  Benedick 
was  at  length  rewarded.  But  he  took  no  mean  advantage  of 
his  triumph.  He  did  not  turn  to  the  curious  world  and  tell 
them  how  his  brother  had  deceived  him,  nor  how  that 
brother  had,  like  a  villain,  gorged  on  uncounted  riches, 
thinking  his  victim  dead  in  a  far-off  clime ;  nor  how  he 
himself,  with  sufficient  means,  acquired  abroad  in  the  pursuit 
of  an  honest  independence,  had  been  occupied  since  his  return 
in  doing  good,  choosing  during  that  time  rather  to  lead  the 
humble,  quiet  life  of  a  bachelor  than  to  inflict  a  stain  upon 
the  family  honor  by  exposing  him  who  had  fattened  and 
grown  haughty  on  his  wealth. 

Search  was  now  made  for  Crawley,  but  without  success. 
He  had  absconded,  it  was  shortly  afterwards  discovered,  to 
"  Merrie  England,"  taking  with  him  all  the  ready  money  that 
he  could  lay  hands  on,  and  leaving  some  of  the  banks  minus 
to  a  heavy  amount. 

What  had  become  of  Alice  did  not  for  several  weeks 
transpire,  but  at  the  expiration  of  that  time  it  was  discovered 
that  she  had  been  seen,  on  the  evening  of  her  disappearance, 


THE    CLOUDS   DISPERSED.  331 

leaving  the  Benedick  mansion  in  company  with  a  .closely- 
veiled  female,  who  was  taken  by  those  who  observed  them  for 
one  of  the  numerous  objects  of  her  charity. 

The  reasons  for  her  abrupt  departure  are  easily  explained 
up  to  the  time  of  her  flight. 

The  life  of  Alice  had  presented  little  but  a  changeless 
routine  of  every-day  cares  and  duties,  varied  only  by 
sundry  little  adventures  incurred  during  her  self-imposed 
task — although  to  her  that  task  was  a  labor  of  love — 
of  administering  to  the  comforts  of  her  suffering  fellow 
mortals.  Neglected  as  she  had  been,  however,  by  her 
proud  kinsfolk,  the  quietude  of  her  existence  was  by  no 
means  displeasing  to  her.  She  had  no  taste  for  the  glittering 
round  of  fashionable  amusements  with  which  her  cousins 
Julia  and  Herbert  had  continued  to  kill  time,  and  the  leisure 
thus  acquired  was  sedulously  devoted  to  the  cultivation  of  her 
mind.  Mr.  Benedick  possessed  a  fine  library,  of  which  he 
had  made  but  little  use  since  the  day  of  its  purchase,  and 
Alice  had  it  mostly  to  herself.  Many  an  hour  which  would 
otherwise  have  hung  wearily  upon  her  hands  was  passed  by 
the  poor  girl  in  profiting  by  the  treasures  which  Pryce  had 
the  good  sense  to  heap  together,  but  neither  the  taste  nor  the 
patience  to  turn  to  advantage. 

She  was  sitting  one  afternoon  in  the  dim  solitude  of  her 
guardian's  study,  intent  upon  a  favorite  author,  when  that 
vague  sense  of  another's  presence,  which  sometimes  comes 
over  us  before  our  eyes  have  detected  an  intrusion,  caused 
her  suddenly  to  look  up.  Alice  trembled  as  she  did  so, 


332  VIOLET,    THE     CHILD    OF     THE     CITY. 

although  the  object  which  met  her  gaze  was  not  of  a  nature 
to  arouse  in  her  any  fears — for  to  her  the  weeds  of  poverty 
were  as  familiar  as  the  finest  robes  of  the  season  to  her 
fashionable  cousins. 

The  increasing  darkness  of  the  apartment  scarcely  sufficed 
to  reveal  to  her  inquiring  glance  the  figure  of  a  strange 
woman,  clad  in  the  most  miserable  garments,  and  whose  face 
was  dec-ply  furrowed  by  marks  of  suffering. 

"  Do  not  be  alarmed  at  my  presence,  miss,"  she  said ;  "  I 
have  purposely  sought  you  here,  while  most  of  the  family 
were  engaged  in  another  quarter,  that  we  might  have  no  wit- 
nesses to  our  interview.  For  well  I  know  that  the  Benedicks 
do  not  love  books,  and  I  rightly  judged  that  I  should  find  you 
among  them." 

"  You  seem  strangely  familiar  with  the  habits  of  the  Bene- 
dicks," replied  Alice,  in  some  trepidation  lest  her  aunt  should 
break  in  upon  them,  and  find  her  in  conversation  with  such 
a  character  in  such  a  part  of  the  mansion.  "  But,  tell  me, 
what  is  it  you  wish  ?  If  there  is  anything  that  I  can 
do " 

"  You  would  do  it  for  the  sake  of  suffering  humanity,  even 
though  your  own  comfort  might  be  the  loser.  Yes,  I  know 
you  well,  gentle  Alice,  obscure  as  you  think  yourself;  and  it 
is  because  I  have  heard  your  name  coupled  with  blessings 
on  the  lips  of  more  than  one  wretched  outcast  like  myself 
that  I  am  here  to-day.  Had  you  been  proud  and  selfish  like 
your  neighbors,  you  had  been  spared  the  trouble  of  this  meet- 
ing, and  I " 


THE    CLOUDS    DISPERSED.  333 

She  paused  here,  as  if  overcome  by  emotion,  while  Alice 
gazed  at  her  in  silent  wonder — her  manner  was  so  unlike 
that  of  an  applicant  for  charity. 

Alice's  interest  in  her  visitor  was  unaccountable.  There 
seemed  a  strange  influence  in  the  weird  figure  by  her  side, 
beneath  which  she  almost  quailed,  and  from  which,  notwith- 
standing, she  felt  no  desire  to  be  relieved.  For  more  than 
an  hour  the  visitor  occupied  the  orphan's  ear  with  the  story 
of  her  life — how,  as  Edith  Gray,  she  had  been  betrayed  by  the 
haughty  wretch  who  disdained  even  to  show  courtesy  to  his 
brother's  child,  while  using  her  income  to  mend  his  own  fail- 
ing fortunes.  Alice's  determination  was  instantly  formed. 
Low  as  Edith  Gray  had  fallen,  she  was  her  mother,  and  the 
poor  girl,  now  that  she  knew  all,  would  rather  share  with  her 
to  whom  she  owed  her  being  the  humblest  roof,  than  remain 
a  moment  longer  an  inmate  of  the  merchant's  domicil.  To 
the  regeneration  and  support  of  poor,  fallen  Edith,  Cousin 
Alice  would  meekly  devote  the  remainder  of  her  days. 

To  take  such  a  step  as  this  required  more. than  ordinary 
courage,  but  Alice  was  resolved ;  and  even  the  loss  of  caste, 
which  would  greet  her  withdrawal  from  the  prosperous  world, 
to  engage  in  this  work  of  self-devotion,  could  not  deter  .her 
from  it.  The  premises  to  which  Edith  Gray  ("  Mother  Peg  " 
no  longer)  transferred  Alice  were  not  of  the  pleasantest,  but 
the  gentle  girl  gave  not  a  moment's  attention  to  that.  The 
salvation  of  a  soul,  and  that  soul  her  mother's,  occupied  all 
her  thoughts. 

A  note  written  by  Alice  to  Mr.  Humphrey  Benedick,  soon 
after,  informed  him  of  their  whereabouts.  Humphrey  imme- 


334  VIOLET,   THE     CHILD     OF     THE     CITY. 

diately  repaired  to  the  side  of  his  lost  wife,  but  it  was  only  to 
close  her  eyes. 

And  now  dawns  a  brighter  day  for  Cousin  Alice ! 

The  morning  which  succeeded  the  return  of  the  little  family 
to  Knickerbocker  Cottage  was  emblematical  of  Herbert's 
hopes.  Dressing  himself  very  early,  he  stole  quietly  betimes 
into  the  blooming  garden,  where  he  found  Violet  inspecting  the 
buds  before  him.  It  was  nothing  more  than  instinct  which 

O 

prompted  him  to  place  his  arm  about  the  delicate  waist  of 
the  young  lady,  and  instinct,  also,  which  prompted  him  to 
brush  away  the  dew  from  a  pair  of  lips  far  brighter  than  any 
bud  that  bloomed  in  the  garden !  And  as  her  little  hand 
rested  confidingly  upon  his  shoulder,  and  her  glossy  curls 
rustled  against  his  glowing  cheek,  he  could  not  help  saying: 

"  Dear  Violet !  to  trifle  now  after  what  has  happened,  would 
be  almost  sacrilege.  I  love  you  dearly,  Violet,  and  your  eyes 
have  told  me,  if  your  lips  have  not,  that  I  am  not  indifferent 
to  you.  Perhaps  you  will  say  that  even  this  is  more  than  I 
deserve,  and  that  I  should  be  contented  with  this  great 
amount  of  happiness  !  But,  Violet,  you  are  grown  to  be  a 
lovely  woman,  and  it  is  fit  that  you  should  have  a  protector — 
one  who  will  be  a  husband  as  well  as  a  companion  to  you ! 
You  will  give  me  that  right,  will  you  not?" 

We  will  not  be  positive  that  Violet  said  anything,  in 
reply  to  so  irresistible  an  argument,  but  certain  it  is  that 
they  exchanged  an  embrace  upon  the  strength  of  it,  and 
that  arrangements  were  immediately  put  in  progress  for  a 
wedding. 

Not  until  the  ceremony  had  been  fully  accomplished,  how- 


THE    CLOUDS    DISPEnSKD.  335 

ever,  did  Humphrey  Benedick  unveil  the  great  secret  which 
had  for  so  long  a  time  rendered  his  acts  a  mystery  to  Herbert ; 
then,  gazing  upon  the  handsome  youth,  as  he  stood  there 
before  the  chancel,  holding  his  betrothed  by  the  hand,  in  the 
mellow  afternoon  light  which  fell  through  the  colored  window, 
with  a  look  of  mingled  pride  and  pleasure,  he  took  him  to  his 
breast,  and  welcomed  him  as  his  "  dear,  dear  son  !" 

Little  further  is  to  be  added,  except  that  the  wedding  took 
place — Mr.  Lyle  giving  away  the  bride  and  Humphrey 
Benedick  throwing  in  the  dowry.  And  a  stranger  was  there, 
moreover,  to  partake  of  the  general  joy.  HARRY  LYLE  it 
was,  who  had  returned,  after  perils  and  adventures  of  no 
ordinary  kind,  to  revisit  his  home.  The  report  of  his  death 
had  been  one  of  those  rumors  which  reporters,  with  their 
proverbial  accuracy,  so  often  disseminate,  to  the  alarm  of 
anxious  relatives,  although  it  had  been,  as  he  remarked,  no 
fault  of  Neptune's  that  his  bones  were  not  lying  ere  that  at 
the  bottom  of  the  sea.  During  the  time  that  he  had  been 
absent,  Harry  had  not  been  idle,  and  the  proceeds  of  several 
years'  hard  service  soon  sufficed  to  place  his  father  once  more 
on  a  business  footing.  For,  with  the  return  of  his  son  and 
the  happy  settlement  of  his  daughter,  Walter  Lyle's  old 
contentedness — his  former  health  and  spirits,  returned  to 
bless  his  hearthstone. 

Shortly  after  this  there  was  another  marriage,  the  parties 
in  which  were  gentle  Cousin  Alice  and  Harry  Lyle. 

"  MR.  HUMPHREYS,"  as  we  see  by  the  papers  occasionally, 
still  lives  and  flourishes.  His  time  is  entirely  devoted  to  the 
carrying  out  of  philanthropic  projects,  and  the  amount  of 


336  VIOLET,   TUB     CHILD     OF    THE     CITT. 

good  that  he  has  conferred  upon  society  by  hia  generous 
donations  and  unrelaxing  attention  is  inconceivable.  There 
are  now  Missions  for  the  regeneration  of  the  poor  of  all  ages, 
and  Homes  for  the  Friendless  of  every  sex  and  shade.  The 
fine  old  fellow  occasionally  indulges  in  more  than  one  pleasant 
dream  while  smoking  his  pipe  of  a  summer's  afternoon  beneath 
the  woodbined  eaves  of  Knickerbocker  Cottage. 

Looking  into  futurity,  he  fancies  "  a  lapse  of  twenty  years," 
during  which  a  change  more  remarkable  than  that  which 
greeted  the  waking  vision  of  Aladdin  has  come  across  the 
scene.  Turning  a  little  to  the  right  out  of  Broadway  (he 
may  wander  in  that  direction  under  the  new  state  of  things 
without  the  fear  of  contamination  that  came  over  him  of 
old),  the  citizen  interested  in  the  salubrity  and  well-being  of 
his  metropolis,  finds  in  place  of  the  pestilential  regions  which 
formerly  blasted  his  sight  on  the  same  spot,  a  Park,  spacious, 
airy,  and  commanding,  interspersed  with  miniature  hills  and 
dales,  and  covered  with  a  growth  of  hardy  trees,  among  which 
the  birds  build  their  nests  without  the  fear  of  molestation. 
More  than  one  cooling  fountain  casts  its  jets  of  liquid  health 
into  the  air,  and  in  the  centre  is  erected  a  monument,  bearing 
an  inscription  commemorative  of  the  change. 

Let  us  hope,  in  all  sincerity,  that  the  heart's  wish  of  "  Old 
Humphreys  "  may  be  realized  ! 

THE    END. 


1! 


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